


Wicked Things Done Red

by Geelady



Category: The Mentalist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geelady/pseuds/Geelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

WICKED THINGS DONE RED  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John-ish. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut! Maybe!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.

CBI

“Come on.” Jane kept his eye trained on the suspect and Lisbon watched from behind the two-way glass – his only audience.

The female, a long legged cougar with hair dyed the blackest back, stared back at the well dressed, slightly dandified man with cold defiance. Lisbon recognised the look; the woman knew they had no proof and if she didn’t say a word, she would walk out of there. The thing was; Jane knew that too so his interviewee, a suspect in her husband’s murder, didn’t know she was just a nag in the final leg of a mental race against a seasoned thoroughbred, and rapidly falling behind. 

Lisbon was amused. Although the case itself had turned out to be a fairly common, sordid affair of greed, lust and betrayal, the murderer’s sudden designs on tripping up the good-looking investigator using her feminine wiles was not. Elissa was not the first prowling female to focus her lying eye on the dashing Jane. 

However getting Patrick Jane to look your way was not a simple task and her first attempt to be overtly friendly with Jane had failed. Then her attempt to avoid him had failed (one may as well try to avoid ants at a picnic), and finally her flirting attempt to seduce Jane had miserably failed, a ruse Lisbon could have told her would never have succeeded because, as far as she had observed, Jane’s taste in women ran to a more refined specimen than a cheating husband killer in leopard spandex. Because Jane was not a horse you bet against, particularly if you were a screw in the race along with him, and the over-confident female was beginning to understand that fact.

“Come on...” Jane said, his tone said he knew she was guilty – he knew it. “You left home at seven-thirty all right but you weren’t at the club for more than fifteen minutes before you left, returned home, and shot him, taking your husband’s horde of diamonds from the safe and the cash from his wallet. Now anyone who knows how to Google can learn how to open a cheap house-hold safe but your real mistake, the thing that first made me look at you as the possible murderer was your hair. You claimed to be in love with your husband - oh you shed all the right tears, and you said all the right things, but your husband Bill loved the blonde you used to be. 

“Now any woman who claims to love her husband would not dye her hair so soon after his demise. She might eventually but not the next day - it’s so vulgar, not to mention disrespectful to his memory. But you didn’t care about any of that, did you, Elissa? No, you may have loved Bill once upon a time, but as he doubled and then tripled his personal wealth, he became such a cheap-skate toward you that you couldn’t stand to be with him anymore. 

“He was like many self-made men, generous toward himself and his friends, and maybe even his mistress, but cheap like borscht with you. As soon as I learned of the grossly unfair pre-nup’ and that you’d visited the salon the day after the funeral my suspicions were confirmed. Then it was just a matter of who it was you were dying your hair for -Nolan Morris as it turned out, the club owner I suspect lied and gave you your alibi the night of the murder. And why would he do that if you weren’t sleeping with him?”

Jane smiled, a genuine gloating grin of personal satisfaction, and Lisbon could not help but smile a little right along with him. Jane loved putting one over on a murderer, for him it was like really good drugs. 

Jane continued his monologue. “That dye job was you washing Bill from your hair, but I mean - really, Elissa?? One day after his funeral and you dye it black as night? You were smart enough to rob your own house and make it convincing but you couldn’t hold your emotions back when it came to how you felt about him – hence the raven dye-job.” Waving his hand at another minor fact - “Well, that and because Nolan Morris convinced you to run away with him with Bill’s diamonds which you both would have taken through customs in the uncomfortable way.”

Jane stood and went to the door. When Elissa saw that the long-winded investigator was finished, the murderess smiled to herself. On the other side of the window Lisbon held her breath. It was too soon for such smugness. One did not smile in such a way to Patrick Jane’s face and get away clean. 

At that moment Jane turned back. “Oh, and just in case you were wondering if keeping silence might save you – Nolan Morris just sang like a canary for a lesser charge. He just told us everything. Nolan may have been a fun guy, Elissa, but in the man department - he lacks gumption.” Jane waved pleasantly. “Have a nice day.”

Lisbon met Jane outside the interview room and fell into step beside him. “You really like to rub their face in it sometimes, don’t you?”

Jane gave her a one shoulder shrug. “Wife kills her husband.” In his eyes it was unforgivable. “Even if the guy was a miser, it’s not right. If she wanted a sympathetic ear, there are divorce lawyers on every downtown corner.”

“Well, she’s sure singing now. I guess Elissa made some poor life choices.”

“And now she’ll have fifteen to twenty to think about them – the shameless flirt.”

Lisbon was regularly bemused by Jane’s chivalrous standards. When it came to the fairer sex, in some respects Jane was a man out of his time. “You know, I don’t think she actually liked you.”

“I’m not sure she liked any man.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you know, some women have a problem with men.”

Lisbon stared at her tea-brewing, nap-taking, work-avoiding, opinionated, case-closing but thoroughly disobedient employee. “Tell me about it.” 

Jane took a turn toward the kitchen. 

“Hey, we have another case, where are you going?” She asked.

Jane said over his shoulder. “Tea time.”

Lisbon let him go. One case down, two new ones sitting on her desk. “Well, hurry it up. We’ve got even more work cut out for us.” Her frustration with Jane’s cavalier attitude towards work was well offset by seeing him walking around, healed and healthy. He was alive and kicking up his usual dust and – no matter where it might land - it was all good.

CBI

The team was seated around the larger of two office tables. Lisbon entered from her office, tossing a folder to each of them. Jane was conspicuously absent. “Where’s Jane?”

“Went for pastries.” Cho said.

“That man and his sweet tooth.” Lisbon muttered. “We’ll start without him then. Here. There isn’t much to go on. Wainright tried saying no but Bertram had this sent down from SFPD anyway. It’s a cold case ten years old or more and now it’s on our desks.”

“Ten years?” Cho, the faster reader of the group when Jane wasn’t around, looked up at his boss. “There’s no victim profile.” 

Lisbon explained “That’s because there’s no proved murders, just missing, and presumed dead kids.”

Van Pelt looked confused. “Why are we getting a cold case of what could be serial murders? Doesn’t the BAU handle this sort of thing with the local PD’s?”

Lisbon looked behind her but there was no sign of Jane yet. She took her seat. “The profiles are there on the last pages. These kids are all probably dead, though for now we keep them on the sheets as abductions. The BAU has their hands full and SFPD want us to listen to their evidence and see if we can come up with any fresh ideas on who the abductor-slash-killer might be, and that’s all.” Lisbon handed Van Pelt a disk. “That is a series of old recordings dug up at the SFPD four weeks ago out of the archives. It was originally sent in from an anonymous source eight years ago. Whoever sent the tape was never discovered but the SFPD assumed it was a child abductor. Grace?”

Van Pelt inserted the disk and said. “Ready.”

“This is harsh to listen to, okay, so just try to stay objective.” Lisbon thought that perhaps it was best Jane was absent for this part. Van Pelt ran the program.

It was a recording of seven voices, child’s voices, all female, and they were calling out for their mothers or daddy’s and, in three cases, then screaming in terror before their voices were abruptly cut off by what method was not obvious from the recording. 

“Oh my god.” Van Pelt said when it was finished.

Lisbon spoke to reign in any emotions that might be threatening to spill over. “We’ve dealt with this sort of thing before, so let’s just work the case. Number one – Van Pelt will send a copy of the recordings down our tech guys to see if it can be enhanced.”

Van Pelt nodded. “I already called them and as usual they’re back-logged so the results will take weeks.”

Rigsby asked “Have any of these voices been identified?”

“None. The SFPD let dozens of sets of parents try to identify the voices of their missing child but none were able to. Ten years ago the investigating team took it as far as they could and then the recording was shelved.” Lisbon explained. “But Van Pelt I want you to run down the parents of any children abducted and not returned in and around the San Francisco area in the last decade. I’m not expecting you to find them all. Statistically after the loss of a child, parents move on, get divorced, pass away, move to another state - the list goes on. Maybe the SFPD missed something. If so, we’ll try to find out what that is.”

“Right.” Van Pelt said and began punching the information into her computer, “I’m on it.”

Cho asked. “If it’s a cold case and they’ve given it to us that means it is Jane they want, doesn’t it? Is this an Agent Darcy thing?”

Cho was no slouch, but Lisbon shook her head. She had suspected as much as well but thus far Susan Darcy was keeping her nose out of it. “As far as I know, Agent Darcy or the FBI has nothing to do with this. Jane and I will start with the most recent abduction – the daughter of a retired SFPD chief. She disappeared three years ago. It’s possible she’s on here. We’re going to let him listen to it.”

Cho was curious. “The previous task force worked on this for six years and found nothing.”

Lisbon said “The task force didn’t have Jane, and SFPD knows that.”

Rigsby and Cho exchanged glances. Cho was the most concerned and voiced it. “You realise this one is going to make Jane crazy – right? These are kids.”

Lisbon said “Well Jane’s just going to have to deal with it.” Maybe it would put Jane on edge and in a crazy fashion that could drive them all to want to start popping pills but however jerky he became, Jane was their best asset. He got things done. Plus Jane was the one person on the team who had been a father, and not only a father but a father who had lost his child to a serial killer that had sent him on a decade-long hunt for that killer. It was those factors - those unique differences - that convinced Lisbon they had a better chance of solving it than any ordinary team of investigators would.

Jane was her ace in the hole.

CBI  
Jane looked around. He was alone in the kitchen. Digging three red and black capsules out of his pocket, he swallowed them down with the cold remnants of his second cup of tea. In just a few minutes, the residual post-operative pain would become a nebulous background mist in his brain and he would be able to work once more. The hour spent grilling Elissa the husband killer while hiding the pain in his gut had taken it out of him.

“Hey.” Cho entered the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. Cho took one look at Jane’s face and leaped to the right conclusion. “Guts still hurting?”

Jane nodded. Cho could kick himself for agreeing to help Jane hide his lingering discomfort from the boss. Losing a foot of small intestine was no trivial matter never mind having a bullet ricochet off your skull. “Well...Lisbon sent me to get you. She’s waiting in her office.”

Jane took a deep breath and, with some difficulty, stood up, fending off Cho’s offer of help with a small wave. “That’s fine...I’m good.”

“Liar.” It was obvious he wasn’t. “Maybe your doctor should give you something stronger?”

“These work.” Jane ignored that. “Why her office? Am I in trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

When he knocked and entered, Lisbon was alone, waving him to a seat. She handed him some forms.

“What are these?”

“Just some insurance information that’s needed from when you got shot.” He voice faltered just the slightest on the last word. “So they can expedite your injury-pay.”

“I get paid to get shot? Cool.”

“Not exactly. Just fill them out and get them back to me. How are you feeling?”

“Right as rain.”

Lisbon searched his face to see if she believed him. “I know you’re popping pills, Jane. Take the day off. Go home. Get some rest if you need to. Cho and I can handle this. Besides this case is already a decade old, another day won’t matter.”

“Lisbon, I’m fine.” Jane stood and spun in place, snapping his fingers. “See? I could dance all night.”

“Yeah – if you could dance.”

“That’s cruel.” He sat down again. “Please let me go with you? Another hour of reality television and I’ll go crazy.”

“Suit yourself.” Lisbon stood. “Come on.”

Jane opened the door for her, ushering her through with a hand on her lower back. “I’m with you - let’s go get the bad guy.”

CBI

Lisbon said. “Mister Daniels, we’d like you to listen to a tape recording. Now I know this may be a bit-“

“Excuse me.” Jane interrupted. “Where is the washroom?”

Daniels pointed toward the staircase. “Uh, top of the stairs. Third door on your left. Switch is on the outside.”

Jane excused himself and Lisbon continued. “We need you to tell us if you recognise any of the voices on this tape.”

“What is the tape?”

“It has just recently come to the attention of the CBI. The previous investigative team were unable to make any progress on who the children on the tape might be.” Lisbon knew Daniels would immediately understand the parts she wasn’t saying. 

“You mean...my daughter might be on there?” Daniels looked sick. “It could be Julie’s voice?” 

“I’m sorry, but yes.” Lisbon played the twenty-right seconds of tape through.

“No.” Daniels said after he listened to the tape, appearing much relieved. “No. No, I don’t think any of those...poor kids is Julie.”

Jane returned from the washroom. “That’s a lovely set-up you have there, sir. Good magazines.”

Daniels frowned at the consultant’s comments. They seemed totally out-of-keeping with the situation at hand. Unable to keep the disapproval out of his voice “You’re welcome.” He said as little sarcastically.

Lisbon had learned to ignore Jane’s odd moments, mostly because Jane usually, though not always, had an underlying reason for his behavior toward someone. Often, in Jane’s mind at least, the person was under suspicion. “Chief Daniels, was there any unusual occurrences prior to your daughter’s disappearance? Workers at the house, visitors – even relatives? I know it was a long time ago but anything you can remember would be helpful.” Lisbon asked, carefully keeping her tone sympathetic but professional because this was the former SFPD Commander and Chief. He had no doubt been asked these questions many times before.

“No.” He said, running fingers through thinning grey hair. Despite his former position and air of authority, he still looked like a man who had lost his little girl. “We already went over everything with the previous team more than once over the years, and the private detectives we hired. Nobody came up with a single useful lead. I don’t know how much more I can tell you, agent.”

Jane asked from his place by the mantel and the four silver framed family photos lined up and on display. “What about phone calls. Delivery people? Anyone new?” Two of the photos showed stiffly posed portraits of a slightly younger Daniels in full uniform and his daughter, perhaps two years old at the time, in his arms. One was of the daughter sitting with a pretty brunette – evidently the nanny. There was only one candid photo of what Jane guessed was the child’s absent mother holding her daughter in her arms. The mother’s face was obscured by the little girl’s cherub-like face, the daughter’s dark brown, almost black curls a stark contrast to the straight cinnamon waves of her mother.

The Chief thought. “Only the laundry service guy, but they changed almost every year anyway. Besides, we had them all checked out. There’s noth-”

“-Just because a guy’s record is clean, doesn’t mean he actually is.” Jane said from the tea service sitting on a small table next to the window, his nose two inches from the tea-pot, admiring the gleam from its polished silver.

“Sir, we plan to go through every scrap of evidence and do everything we can.” Lisbon said. “What about her friends?” 

“What about them?” He asked, spreading his hands. “They were all seven year-olds at the time. I guess they’d be in their late teens now.”

“Seven year old girls often have older brothers, uncles, or perverted fathers.” Jane pointed out. “Did Julie ever stay over-night at one of her friend’s houses?” Jane asked. “And come home the next day...unusually quiet or acting out-of-character?”

It was a thought that had not occurred to the father, but his face changed from a man absent of beloved child to one of suspicion and anger. “The investigating team at the time thought of that, too...have you heard something new? Do you think one of the older boys-?”

Lisbon was quick to interject “-We don’t know that, sir, but it’s worth checking out again. We’ll do an updated check for offences and see if anything pops up.”

Jane said from the oak Buffett, his eyes scanning through all the tiny little statues of St. Mary that the Chief’s ex-wife had collected over the years. “Julie is your only daughter?” Behind the glass were at least a hundred fashioned from every medium imaginable. It had for certain been the wife’s hobby. Men did not collect images of saints.

The Chief nodded. “Yes. Debby was never the same after Julie disappeared. I mean she was okay for a while and then she sort of...fell apart – she spent some time in a hospital. We divorced two years ago.”

Jane nodded and Lisbon could tell he felt something for this man, though he was being careful not to show too much of it. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Jane said. “Where is your wife?”

“Last I heard she was living with a friend in Oakland.” Daniels said.

“Do you have any household staff?” Lisbon asked.

Chief Daniels waved a hand in afterthought toward the driveway. “I have a housekeeper who comes in on Thursdays, but she’s new.”

“Still, it’s odd that your wife would not want to be here to speak with us.” Jane mused. “After the divorce you were granted sole custody but Julie is still her daughter-”

“-That doesn’t mean she was an unfit mother.” Daniels snapped at the implication. “But Debbie, she was a mess – afraid...just afraid of everything.” Daniels explained. “She hated strangers, cameras, dogs, feet – everything. I told her it was best if she stayed away today.” 

“Afraid? After her daughter disappeared?” Jane asked. “Or before?”

“Both. More afraid of everything after I guess. Even afraid of me I think.” 

Jane nodded. “Why would she be afraid of you? Any theories?”

Daniels looked uncomfortable. “She said when she looked at me she saw...she saw our daughter. I suppose she couldn’t stand seeing that anymore.”

“I see.” Jane said. The finger-tips of his right hand worried each other. To Lisbon it was a first-class tell that Jane was kitting together a theory or two.

Lisbon asked. “Do you have an address or a phone number where we might reach your ex-wife?” 

Daniels stood and walked to the buffet against the far wall, the one containing the religious statues. He opened a drawer. “This is the address of her friend from after the divorce. I don’t know if she’s still there or not. We don’t speak.” He said handing it to Lisbon.

Jane asked suddenly. “How long were you and the former housekeeper having an affair?”

Daniels was about to sit down but paused half-way onto the couch. He stared at Jane, and then settled himself down heavily, almost falling into his seat. “Two years.”

“And your daughter. She wasn’t Debbie’s, was she?” Jane asked though he already sounded sure of it. 

Daniels shook his head, his eyes on the carpet.

“So...the divorce was more than Debbie being sad over losing Julie?” Jane said. “She was humiliated. She saw the nanny’s in her daughter’s eyes and was constantly reminded of the betrayal in yours...every time she looked at you.” Jane asserted calmly. “Did Debbie want to adopt Julie or was that just your idea?”

“No. Debbie loved Julie as though she was her own. Debbie was unable to conceive. We couldn’t have children, so when Geena - the housekeeper - got pregnant, we decided to keep the baby and raise her as our own daughter.”

“So you paid Geena off. Gave her enough money to go away and never say a thing about it.” Jane surmised.

“Yes.” Then Daniels added. “But losing Julie was the main reason we divorced. Plus I knew Debbie herself was seeing someone.”

“It probably has nothing to do with your daughter’s disappearance, but how do you know?” Lisbon asked.

“She was spending a lot of time away from home during the week. She quit her job and came home late some nights. She wouldn’t talk about what she was doing.”

Jane had a suspicion. “Wasn’t that the time you first noticed her becoming more afraid? Then, and not after Julie disappeared?”

Daniels thought about it. “Well, yes, I guess it was then I first noticed it. I assumed she was afraid I’d find out, but it was easy to see something was going on behind my back. She was always sneaking off.”

“As opposed to your out-in-the-open affair with the live-in housemaid?” Jane asked rhetorically.

Daniels’ face reddened. “Of course I kept it hidden at first, but after a while I couldn’t live with all the lies and the secrecy...from either of us.”

“You filed the divorce papers?” Jane asked.

“Yes.”

Lisbon asked. “How long were you married?”

“Almost five years.” Daniels rushed to offer some positive light on his personal tragedy. “It doesn’t seem like it now, but the first three or four years were wonderful. Especially after Julie was born.”

Lisbon stood. “Thank you Mister Daniels. Mister Jane and I have to be getting back now. We have your number if we should have any further questions, and please feel free to call us if you think of anything else.”

“Just a second.” Daniels said. “Mister Jane, how did you know I’d had an affair with Geena?”

Jane shrugged. “A bit of guesswork mostly. I knew your daughter wasn’t Debbie’s because your wife’s eyes are blue and yours are green, plus from your older photo, you were a red head and your wife was auburn, but your daughter’s hair is almost black and she has brown eyes, like Geena’s.” 

Jane waved a finger toward the mantel. “That and the photos you have displayed of your daughter – most are of Julie with the housekeeper, and not her mother. You only have one photo of Julie with Debbie; only in it Debbie’s face is obscured. It can’t be seen. That means either you feel guilty for playing a part in driving your somewhat disturbed ex-wife from the marriage or because Debbie herself didn’t like her photo being taken, being so afraid of it in fact that she wouldn’t allow her face to be photographed – not even with her, as you said, beloved adopted child.”

Daniels narrowed his eyes at Jane. “Adopted or not, losing Julie drove my wife into a mental ward, Mister Jane. Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose a child?” 

Jane’s fingers worried each other. “As a matter of fact...”

Lisbon heard the tone in Jane’s voice, the one that said he was about to teach someone a verbal and snappy lesson. To stop that avalanche before it got going she stood and shook Daniels’ hand. “Good-bye Mister Daniels. We’ll keep you informed.”

CBI

“Was that your only theory, or do you have other worse surprises for me?” Lisbon scolded. 

“What theory?”

“That Daniels maybe abducted his own child? I know that’s what you’re thinking, Jane. Just admit it.” 

“No I’m not. However the day is young.”

Lisbon looked crosswise at Jane. “Liar. I know that look.” She said. “What are you thinking?”

Jane set his lips together in an upside-down contemplative grimace. “I’m thinking two tragedies in the same household. First the daughter is lost, probably killed, then the mother’s mind.” 

“First of all, we don’t know that Julie is dead. A second of all – Debbie Daniels had a breakdown. It happens.”

Jane understood all too well. “His grief is genuine enough. Funny, though, that the wife decided to go along with her husband and avoid the interview.”

“Maybe he’s telling the truth? Maybe she really couldn’t handle anything more? Or maybe she’s a wreck to this day? Did you see all those statues? She probably still prays her heart out every night. She’s religious.”

“My wife was religious but she wouldn’t have rested until her daughter was found – that is if my daughter was missing and Angie was still alive. I mean think about it - if Tommy were to disappear, you’re telling me you wouldn’t make yourself available to anyone who might be the one to bring him home? No, you’d look with hope to the next investigator and the next after that. You’d be there to help.”

“Your wife was religious?”

“Yes, it was a bone of contention between us now and again.”

“So you think the ex Misses Daniels...?”

“Is our abductor? No.” Jane said, finishing her thought for her. 

He did that a lot. Lisbon knew she was not innocent of it either, and at times it seemed she had read Jane’s mind. On the job it happened most days and it was a silent message to her that working together for these last four years had tuned them in to each others thought processes, making them a better team. Or that she needed a good, long vacation.

“I think she has something to hide, though.” Jane added. 

“Yeah - what?”

Jane slipped in behind the wheel of his foreign French car. “No idea.”

CBI

“Where are we on the interviews?” Lisbon asked. Jane followed her into the bullpen and took his usual seat, sinking down into his brown leather couch with a sigh of contentment. 

Lisbon had a couch, too, in her office. A new one Jane had bought her of buttery-soft leather the colour of vanilla custard. She indulged in a good contented sit-down every-so-often as well, with her blinds closed. It was the one gift out of all the little gifts Jane had bought her over the years that she had allowed herself to keep. 

“Done.” Rigsby said. “But nothing really new. The parents of the missing Dunne girl came down, and the Barry parents – the rest were done by phone. Some of these people have changed residences or are divorced now and living in different cities. No one came up with anything. None of the voices seemed familiar to any of them.”

“Okay. For now we’ll concentrate on the Daniels girl – one tragedy at a time. Who ever took her most likely took the others so let’s bring these parents some peace and get this perp’.”

“We need to speak to the former Misses Daniels.” Jane said.

“We will.” Lisbon answered. “Van Pelt, you, Cho and Rigsby run down some of these friends slash relatives of Julie Daniels – the older brothers, the uncles, anyone who was in or near that house three weeks up to and including the day she disappeared. And who spent any time with her at all; I don’t care how innocent it might seem. We need to know when they were near her, why and what they did, and their alibi’s for the day and hour she disappeared. Talk to as many of them as you can.”

Lisbon glanced over at Jane. “I’m going to call Daniel’s ex’ and get her down here.”

“Okay.” Jane opened his current hard-cover and began to read. Lisbon had a remark about lazy consultants on the tip of her tongue but it never left. It had been a hard year for Jane and he needed a bit of slack. “Jane?”

“Ye-e-s?”

“Lunch?”

He looked at his watch. “It’s only ten-thirty.”

“No, I mean what are you doing for lunch?”

He looked over at her. “Are you asking me out?”

Lisbon nodded. She and Jane hadn’t taken in a meal together in a long time. She missed it. “To lunch - yeah.”

A hint of an impish smile touched the corners of his mouth. “As long as it’s not a burger joint, I would be delighted.”

“You got anything against fish and chips?”

“Not a thing.”

“Okay. We’ll do fish.” 

Lisbon returned to her office and sat down at her desk. Her heart was beating just a bit faster than it had been a moment ago and she realised she was nervous. There was no reason to be nervous. Lunch with Jane was just lunch with Jane. Even so, she looked forward to it.

Lisbon stretched out her back, hands high above her head. It wasn’t even noon and already she has spent too much time sitting in cars, sitting in other people’s living-rooms and sitting in her hard desk. She looked longingly at her couch; the one Jane had surprised her with. It beckoned her to lie down and snuggle for a few but there was too much work. 

It was nice, though, having it there waiting for her when she really needed it. It had been a wonderful and entirely unexpected gift. Lisbon recalled complaining about losing her old brown couch which complaint at the time Jane seemed to take in stride, as though he knew she was just putting on the pretence of following unwritten office policies about no favouritism which meant no lavish gifts to the boss, policies at which Jane regularly scoffed and often out-and-out ignored. And now, two years and many comfortable sit-downs later, she couldn’t remember if she had ever thanked him for it.

Cho stuck his head in the door. “Boss - Debbie, the ex Misses Daniels is here. I put her in Room 2.”

 

“Thanks.” Already it was back to business. “You seen Jane?”

“Kitchen.”

Of course – tea. Or cookies and tea. Or muffins and tea. It was a wonder how that man stayed slim. “Okay. Would you tell him I’ll meet him in there please?”

“Sure.” Cho added. “The woman looks scared. And she’s been crying.”

Lisbon’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Huh.” And they hadn’t even questioned her yet. This would be one for the books.

“Misses Daniels-“

“Call me Debbie please.” She said. Her hair was dyed as black as tar and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but otherwise she was an even featured, attractive woman of medium build in her mid-forties. She had her hands folded on the table in front of her, the pink-painted nails bitten to the quick. She wore a simple white blouse over jeans. She kept looking out the window to the hallway. The blinds were cranked halfway open and people could be seen passing by in the hall. “You’re Agent Lisbon?” She asked.

“Er – yes.” Lisbon answered. “Mister Jane will be joining us in a moment.” She assumed.

Debbie twisted her hands together. “There is something I need to tell you, Misses Lisbon –“

“-Agent Lisbon.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry.” Debbie studied her hands and then looked up at Lisbon. “You see...” she covered her eyes with her palms, sweeping them over her eyebrows. She was highly agitated now. “This is going to be so hard...” She dropped her hands and took a deep breath, as though bracing herself for a thing unknown and rumoured to be painful. “Before the...other person gets here, I want to explain to you why I seem so ner-”

The door opened.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Misses Daniels. This isn’t an interrogation of any kind - we only want your insights into the disappearance of Julie-”

But Debbie Daniels was no longer paying attention to Lisbon. Instead she was staring at the person who had entered. It was Jane of course, though he had not introduced himself nor sat down. 

“Uh, Jane...” Lisbon as about to tell him to take a seat but something in his stillness instead caused her to twist around in her chair and look back at him.

Jane was frozen on the spot, his tea cup hanging in mid-air but slowly tipping as though his fingers had lost all strength. The tea was spilling over the side of the cup and dribbling onto the floor. His eyes were locked unblinkingly on Debbie Daniels. Lisbon sucked in a breath when Jane’s face suddenly blanched white. His mouth hung open and he was sucking in quick, audible breaths. 

Except for the soft gasping, anyone passing him on a street would have mistaken him for a mannequin standing in a display. “Jane??” Maybe he wasn’t healed up just right yet? She should have followed her guts and ordered him home to rest. Lisbon asked him again, getting worried now. “Hey - are you all right?”

Debbie Daniels was the one who broke the silence. “Hello Patrick.” She said softly, her voice tender, her eyes bright and intently focused on the consultant’s features. Clasping her hands over her mouth in disbelief at the sight of Jane - as though he was an angel that had appeared to her in a dream, now coming to her in the waking world, Debbie said “My god...baby, I’ve missed you so much.” Traces of joy and apprehension were whispered in each syllable like a warm wind through bleak winter branches. Silently she started to weep. “Hello my darling husband.”

CBI

Part 2 soon 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane's world is about to take a hard corner.

WICKED THINGS DONE RED Part 2  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John-ish. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut! Maybe!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.  
This chapter is dedicated to Mentalistlover, one of my most encouraging and loyal readers. This message is for you: “Fear not! I have not abandoned The Mentalist, more chapters (and more stories) to come after this one.”  
CBI

As Lisbon reached to take the slopping over cup from his fingers Jane demanded “Who the hell are you?” 

Debbie, her face a portrait of emotions, wiped the tears from her face. She looked from him to Lisbon and back. Her words tumbled over each other in a flood, her voice shaking, her hands supplicating him. “I know this is difficult to believe and this must be hard for you, babe’, so hard for you because it’s hard for me too but Paddy, it is really me. It’s Angie. Please believe me, honey. It’s so important that you believe me babe’ because I need to explain...”

“Shut up.” He said. Jane had not moved from where his feet were seemingly glued to the tiles. “And stop calling me that.” He warned her, shaking his head slowly, deliberately. “I’m not your “babe’”.” Jane turned his eyes from the imposter to Lisbon, and then turned and left the room more rapidly than he would usually do so. 

Lisbon said to the woman. “Debbie - if that’s your real name - do not leave this room.” She ordered. Before finding Jane Lisbon dialed her phone. “Cho - I need you at Room 2.” 

When he arrived, Lisbon left him to watch the woman from the hall. “Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” 

Lisbon followed Jane, finding him some way down the hall pacing in a small circle, one hand thrust into a pants’ pocket, the other rubbing at his brow, raking through his hair, watching where he put his feet. In Jane all signs he was in an acute anxiety.

Lisbon said as she approached. “Obviously she can’t be your dead wife.”

Jane glanced up. “Obviously.” He agreed. “Question is why is she pretending to be her?” He thrust a hand back down the hall. “And if she isn’t Debbie Daniels, who the hell is she?”

“And why?” Lisbon added. “Why would any woman want to pretend to be the late Angela Jane? Only one possibility comes to mind.” She said.

“Red John,” Jane nodded, “screwing with me.” He forced his restless feet to a stand-still. “Doesn’t make any sense though. Red John couldn’t possibly think I’m stupid enough to fall for it, so why would he...?” He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Cho and I will interrogate her. Find out who this Debbie Daniels really is, if she’s anyone.” Lisbon bit her lip. “Has it occurred to you that – remember Chief Daniels mentioned his wife had spent some time in a mental hospital; it could be that she’s not right in the head. This could be some bizarre fantasy she’s playing out. Daniels also said that his wife had acted strangely for years...we’ll have to get him in here, too.”

Jane nodded. “It occurred to me, yes.”

But still it was odd the woman would use Jane and his sad tale to act out some weird delusional fantasy. On the other hand, Debbie had lost a daughter as Jane had lost one, under different circumstances perhaps, but still... Jane himself had gone through what he called a “rough patch” in a mental ward after his family was murdered. Sometimes people did come to the ends of their ropes. Maybe Debbie’s was a little longer than most and had a loop at the end of it? Maybe pretending to be Jane’s dead wife was of some odd comfort to the clearly disturbed woman; the sharing of a tragedy, a bonding through adversity? Lisbon suggested as much to Jane.

Jane did not appear convinced. “I need to be in there when you question her.” He said. 

Lisbon shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jane stared at his boss. “Lisbon, I don’t believe her if that’s what you’re worried about. That crazy woman is not my dead wife, no matter how much they look alike.”

They looked alike, too? Of course, it was why Jane had stopped dead in his tracks when he had entered the room. Debbie actually looked like Angela Ruskin-Jane, enough to shock the blonde consultant to his foundations, enough even that he had not been able to speak for a moment. “How much?” Lisbon asked him. “How much does she look like your late wife?” 

Jane searched the floor beneath his feet. “The hair colour’s wrong, and she’s older, but other than that...”

As close as that. Lisbon knew she was making the right call in keeping Jane out of the interview room for now. “Cho and I will handle this.”

“If you want to find out what sort of con’ this woman may be running, then I need to be in there.”

“You will be.” Lisbon said, leaving no room for argument. “But you’re not going in there again. Not alone.”

Jane frowned. “Don’t you trust me to know my own mind?” He asked sharply. “She is not my wife.”

“I know.” Lisbon said. “But she sure wants you to think she is and until we know why, I don’t want you anywhere near her. If this is a Red John trick, he’s playing you and therefore counting on you to be curious enough not to stay away.” Lisbon explained. It was a reasonable assumption that Red John wanted Jane confused and feeling vulnerable. What better way to do that than re-introduce to him his long loved and lost murdered wife? “If it is Red John orchestrating this, there’s no way I’m going to let him run the show.”

CBI

“We can’t hold her.” Lisbon explained to the team in the bullpen. They were gathered around the table. Jane sat apart from them on his couch, his usual haunt. 

“She’s done nothing but make a bizarre claim.” Lisbon explained. “But we can hold her if she turns out to be an accomplice of Red John or in some way proves to be a threat to Jane or anyone else.”

“There’s no if about it.” Jane said. “She has to be an accomplice. My wife is dead.”

“Has she?” Cho asked. “Has she made any threats?”

Lisbon almost wished the damn woman would have. It would be simpler. “No.” She answered. “She’s done nothing to warrant suspicion other than to insist that she’s Angela Ruskin.”

Jane studied his hands and what of the team’s expressions he could gather from across the room, from Cho’s out-and-out suspicion to Van Pelt’s maudlin eyes of sympathy. 

Lisbon told Cho. “You and Jane will question her about her daughter’s disappearance, and on her other claim, but if we can find no reason to keep her here, the Law’s the Law – we’ll have to cut her loose.”

Jane shook his head. “She came here for a reason. Red John sent her.” He insisted. “You can’t let her go.”

“We’re bringing in a psychiatrist to access her while we interview her.” Lisbon told Jane. “And even if Red John sent her, she’s done nothing.”

“Good idea.” Rigsby said. “No offense Jane but maybe all she really is is crazy.”

CBI

Jane retreated to the kitchen and brewed tea. He needed to sooth frayed nerves and tea was the best option - that plus a handful of pain-killers. Popping back another three of the small capsules, he eased his painful guts onto one of the upright wooden chairs and waited for them to take effect. 

When the kettle sang he poured out a mug full, adding a generous amount of sugar. Sipping the hot beverage for a few minutes he tried not to think about anything but such was always easier said than done. Staring into the depths of the mug, Jane recalled his wife teasing him on her religious proclivities, and his lack there-of. “You’ll see.” She’d joked. “After I die, I’ll come back to haunt you.” He recalled making a remark to the effect that as long as she was wearing her see-through lingerie, he’d be fine with it. 

Picking up the mug, Jane walked toward Interview Room 2 with a purpose. Outside the door, Lisbon has posted a guard so Cho could get back to their cases at hand.

Jane flashed his plastic CBI Identification. “I was told she had requested tea?” He said simply, leaving it to the guard to fill in the blanks with his own imagination.

The fellow stared at Jane and at the cup in his hand. Finally he nodded. Tea was harmless, and as a member of the building’s security team he personally knew who Patrick Jane was. They were on the same side. “Oh.” No one had told him but - “Okay, sure.” He opened the door and let Jane pass.

Jane entered the room and Debbie looked up. “Why am I being held in this room?” She asked him. She sounded frightened and vulnerable. Innocent. “Why won’t you talk to me, babe’?” She asked again. Already her eyes were watering, her hand fumbling at her neck as though to grasp something that was no longer there.

Jane started when he saw that, and then recovered just as quickly. Angela had worn a cross. This was not Angela. This was a woman pretending to be his dead wife for some Red John agenda that he as yet did not understand. But he would absolutely come to understand it in time.

She had noticed nothing amiss. “Paddy? Please talk to me baby.” Her face twisted as the tears fell. “I can’t blame you for being so angry, or-or frightened by all of this but...I couldn’t tell you-”

Jane dumped the mug on the table with a bang but did not sit down. He instead leaned against the wall farthest from her, directly across from her with the table between them. He was keeping his distance. “Tell me what?” He demanded. “That my dead wife had somehow risen from the grave?” He asked, his voice mocking her. “That’s some trick.” 

“I’m not lying, baby-doll - God - please, please believe me blonde angel.” Her tears flowed freely and she wiped at them constantly. “I tried to stay away, I tried to avoid this but he wouldn’t...And I know it’s hard to accept but it is me – I’m your wife, I’m really Angie. Why would I lie?” She implored, sniffing, her voice catching in her throat every time she looked at him. A tender and sad whisper “I missed you so much...” 

More tears. Red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks. She was good. She even had the pet-names right. “Why don’t you just drop all this nonsense and tell me who you really are? Tell me why Red John sent you? I can’t believe he thought this sort of crap would work on me. It doesn’t even make sense - what the hell does he think this is going to accomplish?”

Debbie hid her face in her arms and sobbed, choking out her words, sniffing hard between sentences, sobbing until her shoulders shook. “I wanted to come to you so many times...so many...so many...but he wouldn’t let me. He said...he said he’d kill you. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, too. I was a prisoner. You were free. He didn’t...” Her tone took on one of genuine astonishment. “He never even hurt me, all those years he made me, he made me...”

“Made you what?” Jane demanded, his own voice rising. “Get married to the Commander and Chief of the San Francisco Police Department? Live in a nice house? Have another family? Do you know how bat-shit crazy you sound?”

Debbie clasped both hands over her mouth and her tears came steadily. She spoke through her fingers. “I know how finding all this out must hurt you, baby, but please believe me when I tell you that I had no choice.” She began to rock herself forward and back while her eyes poured water. “Oh god, Oh god, he made me. He made me. He said...he said he would have hurt you, too, he would have hurt you too, he said he would kill you if I didn’t do as he asked.” 

She stared into the middle distance, reciting the words like a mantra. As confessions went, it sounded as truthful as any. “He said he would hurt you, he would hurt you to-o-o-o...” she bent her head over the table bonelessly, cradling her face in her arms. When she next spoke, her voice came from somewhere far down inside her, like that of a helpless child, hopeless and alone. “I couldn’t have stood it if he hurt you, baby-doll, I would rather have died...” 

The door flung open and Lisbon walked in, grabbed Jane by the arm and hauled him out. Once they were in the hallway, away from the ears of their unusual guest she demanded “What the hell are you doing?? I told you stay out of that room, and you deliberately defied me.”

“She’s an agent for Red John and we need to know why.”

“And I have a criminal psychologist on his way to interview and analyze her. Even if she is a Red John agent, you know what happened to Kristina Frye, the woman is obviously unbalanced. She could be dangerous.”

Jane shooed away her worry with a wave of his hand. “Oh come on, she hasn’t displayed the least sign of violence.”

“I mean dangerous to you.” Lisbon clarified.

Jane shut his mouth. “You mean psychologically?” He suggested, trying out the idea while he scrutinized Lisbon’s face. “You’re worried that because she looks like my wife that I might fall under her charms?”

Lisbon sighed. “Of course not, but-“

“But nothing. She’s all but admitted she’s with Red John. We just need to find out why she’s here and what she and her master hope to achieve with this little charade.” 

“I agree, but we’re going to find that out while being very, very cautious, and that means you don’t go in that room alone - ever.”

Jane stared at her so intensely for a moment, Lisbon wondered if he was trying out some sort of hypnotists’ trick on her. “Don’t you trust me?” He finally asked. He almost sounded hurt.

Lisbon was startled at the look of hurt in his expression and how easily her heart succumbed to it, and how much it bothered her that he would assume she still didn’t trust him. “Of course I do – most of the time when you’re not trying to play the lone-ranger, but you can’t seriously tell me that you can go into that room with a woman who claims to be your dead wife – who looks like your dead wife - and be totally objective? That seeing her face doesn’t affect you at all? That it doesn’t make you wonder just the tiniest bit that maybe, just maybe, she’s telling the truth?”

Jane picked at his own fingers, dropping his gaze to the floor. “It doesn’t matter that she looks like Angie, I know my wife is dead.”

Lisbon nodded. “It wasn’t too long ago you also thought you killed Red John. Look how that’s turning out.”

“That’s a cheap shot.”

“Jane -” Lisbon put a hand on his chest to stop him from walking away. “I’m not worried that you know it up here.” She pointed to his head with her free hand. “I’m more worried about this.” She patted his chest. “I know you try to hide it, but you’re still human.”

Jane sighed and Lisbon could see she had won this round. “You’ll get your chance to prove who this woman is and why she’s here but we’re going to do that safely. Once the psychiatrist is here, someone will come into the room with you, Cho probably, and he’ll be in there with you at all times. We’ll have the psychiatrist observe her and then make an assessment, plus we’ll get a record of everything And by the way this is non-negotiable.” 

Lisbon realised her hand was still resting against the center of his chest. She could feel his heart beating. It was too fast; the stress of the current situation. She dropped her hand away. “We’re not going to take any chances with this one.” We are not going to lose you in Red John’s game. “If you have a problem with that, you can take some time off until we resolve this. You can go home.”

Jane shoved his hands in his pockets, a sure tell he had acceded to her restrictions, at least for now. He looked away from her, his head tilting a little this way and that. Eventually the lines around his eyes gentled over from anger and strain to the softer lines of humour. “I’d go, mark my words but...right now I don’t have any chocolate at my house.”

Lisbon dug into her jean’s pocket and pulled out some quarters, handing them to him. “Here. By all means go feed your chocolate monster.” She leaned in and whispered. “And try not to be such a basket-case for a few minutes.”

Jane walked away jingling the change and muttering “I’m not a basket case.” And then said over his shoulder. “I’m on the case. On the case is what I am.”

CBI

Cho brought a visitor into Lisbon’s office. “Boss. This is Doctor Bangenda.”

Cho stood in the doorway with perhaps the blackest man she had ever seen. Lisbon sighed relief. “Oh, good.” Lisbon stood and offered her hand. Bangenda stepped forward and shook her hand. He had friendly eyes and a wide, charming smile.

Lisbon glanced at Cho. “Thanks, Cho.”

Cho took it as a dismissal and left, and Lisbon shut the door. She wanted this first talk to be private, just between her and the doc’.

“I must say,” Bangenda began in the sing-song tones of North-West Africa. He took the seat she offered, the one opposite her desk, “I read as much of the e-file you sent in the cab on my way over...”

“You took a cab from San Francisco? That’s two hours.”

Again that charming smile. “Well, yes, you see I hate flying and I don’t drive so...” He coughed a little self-depreciatingly. “We all have our hang-ups or weaknesses if you will, Agent Lisbon, even psychiatrists.” 

She nodded. That the psychiatrist before her had quirks did not disturb her at all. It somehow made him more human. She relaxed. “What did you think?” she asked. “About what I sent you?”

“In a word? Fascinating, and...rather tragic. I would love the opportunity to study this person more thoroughly although I realise I’m only here for a few hours on a consulting basis. But from what I was able to glean in the time I had, the subject is in a delicate emotional state. From what you explained in your email, I would advise treading very carefully.”

“Would you be willing to stay the whole day? I’ll clear the expenses with my boss’s.”

Bangenda spread his hands. “My slate is clean, Agent, I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you.” Lisbon had a thought. “Um, if you would like I can show you the first two interviews.” Lisbon pulled up the pertinent files from her lap-top. “We record everything.”

“That would probably be helpful.”

“I’ll have someone fetch you in about an hour.”

Bangenda settled in to watch the recordings of his subject in question. “Fine, Agent, thank-you.”

 

Rigsby met her out in the hall. “Chief Daniels is here.”

Lisbon nodded. “Put him in Interview 1, and you and Grace handle that one until I get there - and keep it going until I do. Butter him up, tell him we can’t do this without his help or order him a sandwich and coffee, anything to keep him here.”

“Right boss.”

CBI

“You ready?” Lisbon studied Jane’s face. Little lines of tension had gathered around his eyes but his expression was typical of Jane as he usually was on a case – intensely focused; determined to get at the truth. He nodded and entered Interview Room 2 with Cho tailing him. Cho did the actual sitting across from Debbie and firing questions. It was left to Jane to ply his usual magic and ask those probing queries that none of them would have thought of, or thought necessary, and to watch her for any sign that she was lying or trying to mislead them.

Jane stood against the wall watching the woman who had called herself Debbie Daniels, and now Angela Ruskin-Jane, as she stared mostly back at him with red-rimmed eyes and then, once in a while, paid attention to the oriental man sitting opposite her.

“I don’t know where I was.” She said in response to Cho’s last question. “He always picked me up in a car. There was always a driver and I always had to wear something over my eyes. It’s why I can’t tell you anything specific.”

“And you never saw his face?” Cho asked, not really believing her. “In what you claim to be a nine year acquaintance-ship with Red John, you never once saw his face?”

“No, I told you – he never sat in the same room with me. We spoke on a phone line that ran between the rooms.”

“Cell phones?” Jane asked, studying her carefully yet keeping his distance. 

“No. It was an old fashioned black dial phone with a cord.”

Cho glanced over his shoulder to Jane. “Two people can have a conversation on them without the need for a real hook-up to any service.” 

Jane nodded. Smart. “Nothing recorded. No actual phone call so nothing traceable either.”

“Debbie” shook her head. She looked exhausted. “Babe’, I don’t know why you’re doing this but I g-guess I can understand why you don’t believe me. It seems fantastic but that lady, the one who died at the house; that was not me. Red John, he...” Her eyes welled with tears once more. “He took our Charlotte from us but he spared me.” She stared at Jane, her expression watery and soulful. “And he promised me he’d spare you as long as I went with him.”

Jane shook his head. “I identified her body myself. You think I don’t know my own wife?” Jane asked her quietly. “And if you think killing my wife and child was “sparing” me, then you’re as crazy as you sound.”

Cho asked “Chief Daniels said you were having an affair while married to him. On those nights when you left the house, was it Red John you were going to meet?”

She nodded. “Yes. He’d call twice and let the phone ring twice each time. It was his signal to me to meet a cab that he would send to a specific corner a few blocks from home.”

“And where did you go during those meetings?”

“I told you, I had to cover my head each time. I don’t know where I was taken. But there was always a woman there to greet me.”

“What woman?” Jane asked.

“I never knew her name. I think she was blind. The lights in her house were always out, even at night.”

Cho and Jane exchanged looks. “Rosalind?” Cho prompted. “Was her name Rosalind?”

“I said I don’t know. She just brought me inside and sat me down in a chair, and then the black phone would ring and it would be him.”

“So you never even tried to take a peek at his face?” Jane asked. “Never once got up from your chair and steal a look in the other rooms?”

She shivered. “I did once. I almost made it to the door of the other room but then he screamed at me over the phone, promised me he’d take you and...hurt you, so I begged him not to and sat down again.” She sniffed, wiping away the tears. “He made terrible threats to harm you, babe’, beat you a-and b-burn you. It scared me so bad I never tried again.” She waved away any such foolish thoughts. “I couldn’t bear it if he had hurt you, Paddy; at least I could help you in that way, despite everything.”

Cho made a point of not looking over his shoulder at Jane, well aware of the terrible burn scar on his shoulder which Red John had given to him. Instead he asked. “What else did you talk about during those meetings?”

“I told you – nothing. It was always him talking, making me promise to never reveal myself to Paddy or anyone. And then he’d tell me...describe to me in detail what he would do to my husband if I did.” Debbie thrust her hand out possessively toward Jane and then let her tears fall without sound, fumbling at her throat once more. “Heavenly Father, give me the strength...” she muttered.

Jane shifted his feet, watching her for a moment. “Why?” He asked. “Tell us that. Why would Red John spare one of his victims? Just on a whim?”

“Debbie” shook her head. “He said he had plans for you other than death. Things to teach you, or something. Whenever I asked him about it, he got so angry. I started to fear for my life so after a while I quit asking.” She looked over at Jane slouching against the wall. His face, though, was flushed as though he had been running. Her voice heavy with concern, she remarked “Paddy – your heart.”

It was such an unusual thing to say that even Cho turned to see to what she was referring. True enough, Jane’s face was flushed about the cheeks. And Cho saw something else – Jane had gone very still and quiet. He looked a bit stunned in fact.

After a moment Jane, relaxing his posture asked “Is that it? You have nothing else to say? No reason why you’re here – suddenly – after nine years – my so-called wife shows up without a reason?”

“Red John let me go.” She said. “I think...I think maybe he decided that...” She bit her lip as she gazed at him. More tears silently fell but the love on her face, whether real or fake, was unmistakable. 

The woman, if she was a fake, Cho thought, was a hell of an actor.

“...that you’d been punished enough.” She said. “So...” she covered her eyes with one hand and sobbed helplessly. “S-so he let me come h-home to you, baby-doll. He just...” she shrugged in a ghostly manner of Jane himself, just a tiny lift of one shoulder. “He just let me come home.”

Cho stood and beckoned for Jane to follow him. Out in the hallway he turned to the blonde and asked. “What do you think?”

Jane rubbed one hand over his head from front to back. He quipped “I think she’s crazy.” But his eyes looked at the wall and not at his colleague.

Cho frowned, deciding to ask. “Is there something wrong with your heart?” 

Jane did look at him then. “Nothing.” He pointed a finger back at the room and the woman they had just grilled. “She’s nuts. My wife is dead. And Red John sent her here for a reason other than compassion, I promise you that.”

“Okay.’’ Cho quickly agreed. If there was some other thought in Jane’s head, trying to dig it out was always a futile waste of time. “I’m going to bring Lisbon up to speed.”

Jane watched him walk away and retreated to the kitchen to gather tea-makings, shaking off the haunted feeling in his gut on the way.

CBI

 

“Mister Jane.”

About to take a bite of his favorite candy-bar, Jane turned to see Susan Darcy walking toward him in her trademark suit and skirt.

He dropped his head with a sigh, abandoning his little treat to his pants pocket. “Susan, I don’t have time today for any of your ridiculous accusations. I have a case.”

“I’m aware.” She said her eyes as cold as the last time he saw her. Did the woman have no furnace in her soul? “Wainright called me.”

“He’s such a snitch.” Jane remarked.

“It’s policy.” Susan regarded him calculatingly. “Some of us actually believe in following the rules.”

“Good for you.” Jane said. “And him.”

Darcy ignored his sarcasm. “If this is a Red John case by definition that means it’s the FBI’s case - my case.”

Jane didn’t care to argue with her. “Take it up with Lisbon, Susan.”

“Thanks, I will. And you can address me as Agent Darcy.” She walked away.

Jane watched her go. “Well, lah-tee-dah.”

CBI

Lisbon returned to her office with little useful information from former Chief Daniels. He’d had no idea that his wife had been harboring delusions of being someone else, despite her time spent in a hospital over the loss of Julie. No, Debbie had never claimed to be married before and had never even known about any serial killer named Red John, he was sure of it. As far as he was concerned, his ex-wife had gone over the deep end and that was that. But he advised her to check the hospital records for any answers they might have.

Lisbon had already done so. The presiding physician recalled the case and assured her that Debbie Daniels had been in there strictly for “rest”. She had undergone no medicinal regimes other group counselling and some sedatives.

 

Lisbon thought her morning couldn’t possibly get any worse until Susan Darcy made a showing at her office door. Lisbon waved her in and indicated the chair which Darcy did not use. 

Lisbon felt like telling the woman to take a flying leap but civility won out. “Can I get you anything?” Lisbon asked. “Coffee. Tea?” The Exit signs?

“No thanks. I’m here to take over this case.”

Lisbon started. Wainright had called her, the little weasel. “Uh, well, we don’t exactly have a case as such. We’re only questioning-”

“I already know the details of this woman Agent Lisbon so can we dispense with your attempts to deflect? I know she claims to be Patrick’s dead wife and that she also claims to have been working with Red John.”

Lisbon decided to hit her squarely on the nose much as she had done. “Did you also know that I’ve called in a psychiatrist to interview and analyse her? She insists she’s Angela Jane, a woman who has been dead for over nine years which makes her if nothing else a case for a mental ward.”

“Maybe.” Darcy agreed. “Or maybe she’s just a very clever actress who is working with Red John and perhaps Patrick himself.”

“You don’t really believe that.’ Lisbon asked. 

“I know for the last nine years Patrick has somehow managed to avoid being hurt by Red John in any way.” She pointed out. “I know Red John, for some reason I can’t figure out, has not killed anyone around Patrick who has been there to help him, even protect him. Don’t you find that a little unusual, Agent Lisbon - suspicious even?”

“You think Jane hasn’t been hurt by Red John? Have you not been keeping up with current events?”

“I mean Jane has not been murdered.” Darcy corrected. “I’m aware of the kidnappings. I’m also aware that Jane orchestrated his last kidnapping. He claims it was to find and kill Red John and yet, home he came with no permanent injuries.”

“Well, they were permanent the first time.”

“Red John likes to leave his mark on things and people – I know.” Darcy assured her. “And, perhaps, on his accomplices as well.”

“Jane is not working with Red John, the idea is ludicrous.”

“Two kidnappings, letters, emails...that’s an awful lot of communication with a serial killer who murdered his wife and kid. And a lot of convenient “escapes”.” With her fingers Darcy made bunny quotes in the air around the last word. “Jane has managed to escape twice from a murderer who supposedly hates him. Don’t you wonder why Jane somehow comes safely home each and every time?”

“Because he’s smart and lucky? Did you even bother to read the file on Angela Jane and the daughter? And what Jane went through afterward - the hospital?”

“Of course. I didn’t say Mister Jane did not lose his wife and daughter. What I’m saying is maybe he assisted? Maybe he’s been a Red John disciple from the beginning?”

Lisbon was beginning to wonder if the woman was right in the head herself. “That’s insane. What is it with you? Why do you have this vendetta against Jane?”

“It’s not a vendetta but if any of this is personal, it’s because I hate being lied to and Jane has done that to me from the time I took over the Red John files. And I suspect you’ve been complicit is those lies, Agent Lisbon. I’d advise you to keep your distance from Jane if you don’t want to go down with him.”

“I’m his boss. I won’t be keeping my distance as you put it.”

“Too bad.” Darcy said. “Because I intend to look into your dealings during all of this as well. And mark my words if you are culpable in any way with Jane and his lying, I will make sure you are bounced out of here for good.”

“Not your call.”

Darcy assured her. “Don’t count on it.”

CBI

Doctor Bangenda knocked on the open door and Lisbon waved him in with a measure of relief. “Hello, Doctor. Please come in.”

He did so, making himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair. “I have reached some conclusions if you’d like to hear them? May I show you?” He opened her laptop which she had loaned him earlier and turned it so she could follow along.

“Here is where your Agent Cho and Mister Jane began the interview with the Debbie Daniels woman.” He pointed to Debbie Daniels on the laptop’s screen with the rubber end of his pencil. “Through-out the interview she appears, as far as I am able to tell, sincere and truthful. What she is saying I have no idea of course whether it is the truth or not, but her body language tells me that she is not trying to mislead.” 

“And then the subject of our earlier discussion...” He pointed to another figure on the screen. “Mister Jane? When the interview begins, he is very guarded but self assured. He believes the woman is lying and he continues with that mind-set for many minutes, as well as does his colleague, Agent Cho. However, twenty minutes into the interview his posture changes drastically.” He pointed it out. “You see, here, at this moment? How he unfolds his arms and stands straighter, how his posture relaxes? How he is looking at her more intently, listening to her more closely, as though it’s not what she’s saying but how she’s saying it?” Bangenda fast-forwarded the recording until he found the correct spot. “And then here...” He pointed once more when in the recording Jane changed position slightly. “He took a single step toward the woman. And on his face there was an expression I could not place at that moment until i looked it over a few more times.”

Although Lisbon was afraid to ask “What expression?” Her guts tightened.

“Recognition. I believe Mister Jane experienced a moment of profound recognition in her.”

Lisbon swallowed. Her heart pounded like a native drum. “What are you saying, doctor?”

“I’m saying, Agent Lisbon, that we all have our weaknesses. You’ll have to decide for yourself whether what she is saying is relevant or not - I don’t know, I’m not a policeman - but from what I was able to discern from my observations of Mister Jane during this interview...” 

 

“...he is starting to believe her.”

CBI  
Part 3 asap


	3. Part 3

WICKED THINGS DONE RED Part 3  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was. 

When it comes to the tax stuff I am ahead of the game so far - yeah baby! So here is chapter 4.   
CBI

Bangenda looked at his employer for the day. “This woman who claims to be his dead wife...I’m sure you can understand the significant stresses that such a bizarre event must be bringing to bear on your Agent Jane’s psyche, in particular considering that he has a mental breakdown in his history.” He indicated the folder in his lap. “I have read more about your Mister Jane – the unusual childhood and his time spent in a psychiatric ward.” Bangenda looked grave. “In your opinion, do you believe this woman is his supposedly dead wife?”

Without her permission, Lisbon’s heart fluttered. Suddenly she recalled that she and Jane had planned to go to lunch together, and how much she had looked forward to it. Silly, really, it was just going to be lunch. Nothing really special, just lunch out somewhere, taking a break from the stress, like they did almost every day. But this time it had meant more to her. At least this time she had intended it to mean more. She’d even had a few conversations starters in mind, subjects that had little to do with the job or their careers – more personal things such as what he wanted out of life and where did he see himself in five years; sort of like those things people talked about on a first date. Now she wondered whether or not any of it would have mattered to him, or what meaning it might have held between them. 

It was odd that particular question had not crossed her mind at the time. Jane teased her almost every day, trying to get a rise out of her, or make her feel better, but what sort of teasing had it really been? The kind a brother or a good friend might offer or something deeper? Now, seeing how the day’s events had diverted all of their attentions into this bizarre and largely unknown territory, she realised she’d had no idea. 

It made her heart ache to think about it, but she would never ask him those things now. With Jane’s wife possibly back in the picture, the very idea seemed foolish. Stupid of her to think that fate might deal her a good hand this time, with a good man on the horizon. Because Jane was a good man – a troubled man, yes, but good in his heart. She was as sure of it as she had been sure of her father’s love, despite his alcoholism and what it had eventually wrought in the lives of her brothers and herself. “Honestly,” She finally answered Bangenda, “I don’t know.”

Bangenda looked un-settled while he read from the file in front of him, paraphrasing for her. “Patrick left the so-called “carnie circuit” when he was nineteen years old after meeting his future wife Angela Ruskin.” Bangenda looked up. “Angela Ruskin’s birth certificate shows that she is almost two years older than Patrick. That means when they met he was still a teenager and she a grown woman...”

“But only two years...” Lisbon ventured.

“At that age, at nineteen, Patrick Jane would still be somewhat immature. It takes boys longer to reach full maturity, the ability to use full and sound reason; that is not just anecdotal, it is a researched fact. Miss Ruskin came along, this wealthier, beautiful woman and befriended a poor kid who was, according to what I am able to interpret from the wording, a delinquent. The Ruskin’s were well off, the Jane’s were poor – they were con-men. Perhaps Patrick’s family was not well accepted among their fellow performers?” At the end he turned his phrase into a question.

Bangenda was good at extrapolating, and at reading between the lines. Lisbon nodded. It was how she understood it as well, from the little she had been able to gather from Jane's allusions to his wandering, mostly obscured past. The Jane’s were from the wrong side of the tracks - Jane had once mentioned as much to her. He may have been the Boy Wonder, but with no mother, a con-man for a father, and no real home but a caravan, Jane had grown up as little more than the circus equivalent of a street kid. Lisbon frowned. “Why is it important?” She asked. “His age I mean.”

“What I mean, Agent Lisbon, is that this woman, if she is indeed his wife, would have a profound influence over him, even now. From what I understand, she was his first love, she was older and, at that time at least, probably called most of the shots in their lives. And from everything I have learned about Mister Jane from you and from his file, he adored her. He practically worshiped her. In a man who is little more than a boy, that is not an uncommon reaction to a first love – it’s a form of nightingale syndrome; only I suspect the sickness was his hatred of his home-life, and perhaps his father as well.” Bangenda cleared his throat. “It is possible that this woman would have left the circuit life anyway but when she found Patrick, she became his rescuer.”

“You think she’s here to take him away with her?” Suddenly Lisbon realised the way she had worded it made her sound as though he were hers to lose. Her heart thrummed painfully. No, Jane was not hers at all. Funny how often she forgot that.

Bangenda seemed to have blipped over any unintentional implications, and spread his hands. “I have no idea. But if she is his real wife – or if he believes she is - and that is her agenda, you will not be able to prevent it. As a young man in the beginning of his first real relationship, as young as he was, a first love feels like forever. She took him away from a home he hated and so nothing would ever change for them. They were forever. That is how his heart would have interpreted it you see – Miss Ruskin saved him. She was like his angel.”

Lisbon had often thought so herself. When Jane spoke of his wife, he seemed to do so through the romanticized goggles of the past. Angela had worn a veritable halo and wings, and Jane was the dusty orphan she had deigned to save from the ghetto. “If Jane decides to leave with her, we have no right to stop him unless...are you? – do you think doing so might harm him?” A Hail Mary of hope. If it could be proved that Debbie or Angie or whoever she was had intentions of harming Jane – if indeed Red John sent her to do just that – she as his supervisor and medical proxy would have at least some legal recourse in keeping them apart. Lisbon felt guilty about that small hope and the balm it brought to her frightened heart.

Bangenda shrugged. “I wish I could say but considering his current emotional state, my only advice is to keep a close eye on Agent Jane.” 

Lisbon nodded, not bothering to correct his error in calling Jane an agent. Perhaps not in title but to all intents and purposes he was. Jane meant as much as any of the others under her command. He was just as important as the rest of the team, just as valued, and just as missed when he was absent. They equally feared for him when he was in danger, and they shared his pain when he was hurt.

Bangenda searched her face. “It is obvious to me even after only studying him for a day that your Mister Jane is on the edge of a possible breakdown once more – certainly he needs an extended leave. And it is equally obvious you are worried about him, that you know this is true.” He observed, gathering up his notebook and his car keys “In my opinion you should be worried. He is exhibiting textbook anxiety/depressive symptoms Agent Lisbon, and worst of all – my guess is he’s been most likely hiding the worst of them from you.” 

Bangenda closed the file folder. “In my professional opinion he needs to step away from his job and get help.” The female agent’s forehead was wrinkled with worry, and Bangenda suddenly felt sorry for her. And for her friend. He took out a small business card, scribbling something on the back. Handing it to her he said “Look, I’m returning to San Francisco in the morning. Here is my room number at the hotel. Please call me if I can be of any further assistance.”

CBI

Debbie now addressed her answers to the new agent sitting opposite her. “Red John let me go after the first year. As long as I did not go near my husba – Patrick, as long as I did not go near Patrick or speak to him o-or try to see him, I was safe and so was he. Red John promised he would not hurt Patrick as long as I obeyed him.”

“Why would he do that?” Darcy watched the woman shrewdly. “Why capture you and then let you go? And how have you managed to avoid anyone finding out all these years?”

“Well, when I met Ted Daniels, I saw him as a way to be safe, and Red John encouraged it. Ted was a policeman after all, and he was good to me. He helped me...”

“He helped you what Debbie?” Darcy prompted.

“He helped me with a fake ID. I told him I was a run-away and had an abusive ex-boyfriend to avoid. He, Ted, helped me get the papers I needed.” 

“What about fingerprints?” Darcy asked her. 

“What about them? When I was married to Patrick I never had any reason to be finger-printed. Why would I need to?”

“So you kept your real identity secret for nine years and no one was the wiser.” Darcy said sounding far from convinced. “You know the problem I have with that? That you’re here, now, trying to get back in touch with Mister Jane, your so-called ex-husband. That you claim to have been in regular contact with Red John for the last nine years and yet you have offered us not a shred of proof.”

“I’m telling you the truth!”

Darcy smiled. It was the small, misleading grin of a wolverine. “Rosalind Harper, the blind woman you claim to have welcomed you into her house while meeting up with Red John. Here’s the thing, Debbie, she’s never heard of you. She doesn’t even remember your name.”

“That’s because we never spoke or exchanged names.” Debbie looked from Darcy, the tall woman with the hard eyes, to Lisbon, the shorter woman whose gaze held sympathy along with the suspicion. “We-we never spoke, her and I, it was just, it was always Red Joh – Ray - who talked. Rosalind led me to a chair and left the room, that’s all she ever did when I came.”

Debbie kept her eyes on Lisbon when she suddenly asked “Where’s my husband? Where’s Patrick? Why isn’t he in here?”

Darcy answered. “This is my investigation. Patrick’s not needed here.”

Lisbon decided to weigh in on that one. “For now.” As much as she wanted to cooperate with the antagonistic FBI agent Darcy, these offices were still her territory. “Jane’s working on another case at the moment.”

That wasn’t good enough for Debbie-cum-Angie. “Well, I want to talk to him. I know how incredible this seems. I can understand why he doesn’t want to talk to me, but I am who I say I am, and I know that deep down he believes me.”

Darcy leaned back and crossed her arms. “Lady, you’re not going anywhere or seeing anyone until you start giving us some answers, like who you really are, why you’re here, and especially everything you know about Red John down to the tiniest minutia.”

“But that’s illegal, isn’t it? Keeping me here.” Debbie appealed to the shorter woman. “Agent Lisbon? I haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Lisbon hated to say it. “I’m afraid the FBI can hold you indefinitely...under certain circumstances.”

“But I haven’t done anything. I came here willingly.”

“True, but only after avoiding talking to Agent Lisbon’s team.” Darcy reminded her. “And then lying when you finally did.”

“I’m not lying.” Debbie said desperately, her eyes watering. “Let me speak to Paddy again. I’ll prove it to you.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m not going to say anything more to any of you. From now on I will only talk to Patrick.”

Darcy stood and motioned for Lisbon to follow her out into the hallway. “I don’t think she trusts you.” Lisbon said.

“She doesn’t trust anyone.” Darcy pointed out, her brow scrunched up in frustration. Then accusingly to Lisbon – “Did your team even speak to Ted Daniels? Because he’s been hiding some pretty significant facts.” 

“We’ll get him in here again. Obviously he lied to us.”

“Obviously.” Darcy agreed. She bit her lip. “In the meantime maybe we should let her talk to Patrick again? Maybe he can get some truth from her. Use her wifely claim to maneuver her into giving herself away, con her into making her tell us more – he’s good at that stuff.”

Lisbon was not crazy about the idea. Jane was already in, according to Bangenda, a state of emotional fragility. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She was also a little fumed at Darcy’s summation of Jane’s abilities as an investigator - that all he did was con people. “You know, Jane has other abilities. He’s become an excellent investigator.”

Darcy ignored Lisbon’s praise of a man whom she saw as little better than a lying con-artist. “You don’t think it’s a good idea? Why? Because you think she might be telling the truth?”

“No, because Jane is in bad enough shape already and being on this case can only make matters worse.”

Darcy considered her colleague. “I don’t think Patrick Jane is as fragile as you’d like to believe.”

“As I’d like to believe?? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have feelings for him, and don’t bother to deny it, Agent, it’s there to see for anyone who looks closely enough. And I think because you have feelings for him, you tend to regard him as more human and frail than he actually is. Jane is a sociopath - maybe even a psychopath. He’s not fragile at all. He’s a manipulative, sadistic liar and I believe he and this Debbie woman might be working together. In fact I would not be surprised if they were.”

“To what possible end?”

Weeks ago Darcy had thought of any number of possible reasons to any question regarding Patrick Jane. “Maybe to make himself appear like victim. Maybe to throw me off the scent.”

“That’s crazy. If you worked with Jane all these years, you’d know how crazy that is.”

“Or maybe you’re just blind to his true self because you’re in love with him?”

It was a low blow and Lisbon bristled. “Jane and I are professionals. He’s my employee, nothing more.” Lisbon was shocked that Darcy had seen through what she thought had been a pretty thick wall covering her feelings for their blonde mentalist. Careful to keep her cool “I think you just want a win, and convincing your superiors that bringing down someone like Jane on bullshit charges – someone they don’t give a rat’s ass about anyway - would be a career coup. On up the ladder you’d go.”

Darcy was nothing if not self-assured. “You’re a fool if you think Jane is the man you imagine him to be. And equally foolish if you continue to let your feelings for him skew your judgment. I don’t know exactly what Jane is, Agent Lisbon, but he’s not this grieving husband and father act he’s been putting on all these years. He’s dangerous.” Darcy turned her attention back to the woman sitting in the empty room, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’ll be conducting the rest of the interview myself.”

“Fine.” Lisbon had no choice. Bertram had seen to it with his over-the-phone speech about “full cooperation with the FBI” hours earlier. “But this is still my turf and my team will be observing.”

Darcy said. “Do what you have to, Agent Lisbon, but just stay out of my way. This is my investigation. You’re in only as a courtesy.”

CBI

 

Lisbon found Cho in the bullpen. “Need you. Where’s Jane?”

“In the bathroom I think.” 

Cho kept staring at her silently as from experience Lisbon knew something was up. It was his way of saying Ask and I shall tell. She kept her voice down anyway, not wanting to alert the rest of the team unless it was necessary. “What’s going on?”

Cho looked guilty. “I think the pain pills are tearing a hole in his stomach. He looked queasy.”

“Pain pills?” So Cho did have a reason for looking guilty. “How long have you know that he’s still on the pain med’s?”

“’bout a week.”

Lisbon shook her head. “That stupid...damn him.” If she had known, she could have ordered his blonde ass home to rest, which evidently was precisely what he needed. Not worrying about who might be occupying it, Lisbon entered the men’s washroom with a string of phrases ready to fire. “Goddamnit Jane, why the hell didn’t you tell me - ?”

But Jane was indisposed with his head over a toilet bowl, vomiting violently into it, unable to answer her.

Lisbon stopped. “Jesus.” She said when she heard the harsh bout of coughing that followed. Then she saw the specks of blood. Things were getting complicated. With Jane they always were, now just more so. “Why didn’t you tell me that shit was ripping your stomach lining out? Why in the hell didn’t you just stay home until you were out of pain?” Useless questions. She knew he would have a glib answer that would contain nothing but cleverly worded dissembling.

Jane sat up, resting on his backside on the cool floor. He wiped at his mouth with a handful of toilet paper. “Pain’s getting better.” He explained. “I’m just having issues with the med’s.”

Surprisingly it sounded like the truth. “Darcy wants you back in the interview room with her and De - whatever her name is.” She hated to let him continue with this, even for a few minutes. Lisbon had an idea in mind however to put a stop to it - a Darcy-targeted stall. This was Jane’s physical and mental health and as his boss she had to put those ahead of his involvement in any aspect of any current case, or she was no boss or even a friend. “Look, I can get you out of this. You can go home. Rest. Get well.” He wouldn’t go of course.

True to form Jane shook his head and got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily. “I’m okay.” He smoothed down his vest and drew a small tube of something from its small front pocket, tearing off its paper covering. “See?” He showed them to her, slipping three of the small white disks into his mouth. “Rolaids.” He chewed.

Lisbon leaned against the stall door. Darcy was wrong about Jane. Emotionally, ethically, maybe even psychologically he wasn’t what anyone might label a normal man, but he was no psychopath. Jane hid behind a persona of indifference but then did things outside of, and sometimes hidden from, the call of duty, once even personally delivering an orphaned baby to her grandfather, returning to the car with a grin wide enough to rival the sunshine. It had been a Kodak moment, one Lisbon wished she could have recorded, and a side of Jane Susan Darcy had never seen. Since the woman’s prejudice refused to budge, it was one she likely never would.

But sixty-five seconds after that long, hard day had momentarily exposed certain things inside him that horrible past events had bloodied and buried, hinting at whole passages in the secret parts of Jane that Lisbon was convinced remained to be revealed. A portrait of a good man waiting to be reborn. 

If only fate would step up to the plate for a change. 

Jane was for certain hurting, maybe angry, perhaps even damaged. But who wasn’t? “Okay, fine, go. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Lisbon followed Jane from the men’s room and watched him walk away down the hall. He looked pale and haggard, dragging his feet. He was not all right. He was right fucking far from all right.

Once Jane was far enough down the hall that he could not hear her, Lisbon whipped out her cell phone and punched in some numbers. “Doctor Bangenda - you said if I needed anything, to call you? Well, I need something.” She said, watching Jane’s slouched back. “Jane needs something.” 

Lisbon wasn’t about to let Susan Darcy waltz in and destroy what was left of him. Over the previous exhausting year Lisbon had done a lot of soul-searching and come to realise more and more that she herself had grown close to Jane, probably too close for her own good and she knew it. 

But perhaps it had been inevitable. Jane was such an unusually compelling individual. His personality, his quirks, his brilliant mind and troubled heart, even his wildly fluctuating moods had gradually crept up to her soul and entered, settling in from skin to bone, curling up inside her like a sleeping cat. Jane meant too much to her now to just let the flaming arrows fall as they may. She would be his refuge as she had been for her younger brothers all those years growing up. 

Right now the misery of the unforgiving world was coming down on him once again and Jane was without a protector. Jane needed her and that felt good. And she needed him, too. Meeting Jane, working with him, getting to know every good and bad side of him, his hard, unyielding walls and his tender, gentler interiors, had become to her like a refuge for the hollowness inside her chest that her father’s suicide had wrought. Coming to respect, and then love, Jane had slowly reached into the scarred, hardened parts of her, setting her on a course of healing from the terrible aching, finality of her father’s death. 

For all Jane’s prickly parts, she had to admit that he felt good next to her and was good for her. He had, in some inexplicable way, made her feel that occupying her own life was once again comfortable. She was acceptable, and even though some days she still felt alone, she was at home. Jane had survived even worse, had he not? His childhood stolen, his family taken and, for a while, his hope lost. They were both broken people after all, both survivors and both in need. She hadn’t seen it coming – that love - but now that it had found her, she found that she didn’t mind the prickly at all. 

Imperfect as it was, home was a good thing. “Doctor, this is very important...”

CBI

Bangenda cleared his throat and addressed the female Agent with some bemusement. “Well, as you predicted, your Mister Jane would not answer any of my questions. However that and my own observations of him suggest to me that he is deeply disturbed by this woman’s presence. I am concerned enough to recommend he either be taken off this case altogether or that he be allowed limited contact with this woman and only under direct supervision of either you or a member of your team – someone he trusts.”

It was exactly what Lisbon was hoping for. She now had an official document to wave under Wainright’s nose – or Betram’s – and best of all, directly into Darcy’s face that Jane was not her boy to use only when she needed him. And even more importantly, it let her team officially back into the case of the mysterious Debbie Daniels. “That’s good news.”

“You realise of course,” Bangenda reminded her, “that it is only binding on him while he is your employee. It becomes null if he is fired, leaves of his own accord, or if he simply refuses to comply with it.” Bangenda saw that last as distinct possibility.

Lisbon nodded. She would keep him here. She had to. Jane had quit once before. Back then it had disturbed her more than she had expected. Once you get used to someone being in your life, in your work, in your face, day in and day out, when you begin caring about them and worrying about them when they’re not around, and suddenly the day comes when they are gone... It had not been a pleasant week. “Thank you doctor.”

CBI

Jane read the medical orders. “I don’t need you or anyone babysitting me.” He said. His voice was level but his eyes were angry – disappointed in her.

It was the reaction she had expected however, and she held her ground. “This is the only way you can get out from under Darcy’s thumb in this case. And it’s the only way my mind will be at ease during it. Whether or not she is your wife, this woman was most probably sent here by Red John. I won’t let you fight through this on your own.” Lisbon saved the guilt to apply last. If Jane cared about her at all, he wouldn’t dismiss it. “It’s the only way I won’t worry about you every minute we’re on this case.”

Lisbon was gratified to note that his posture immediately relaxed. When he next spoke, his eyes were no longer cold. Tiny wrinkled appeared at the corners, and the ghost of a smile traced his lips. “You worry too much, Lisbon.”

“Call it a weakness.” She said.

“So who is going to be holding my hand this time?”

No, Lisbon silently admitted that this was not the first time she had partnered him up with someone to watch over him, or barred him from a case for his own good. She was a bit of a mother hen when it came to Patrick Jane. It’s just that when someone was hurting, as he often was, she felt the need to protect them. She supposed psychologically it had something to do with having raised three brothers virtually on her own. 

“Me, or when I’m not available, Cho.”

“Make it Van Pelt.”

“Hah! Nice try. No way, she’s too much of a pushover. I know all you’ll need to do is flash those baby blues at her and sweetly say please and she’ll fold like an umbrella. It’s me or Cho.”

Jane seemed pleased with her which set her alarms off since she had just thwarted his attempt at easing the medical restriction in his favour. “What??”

“You’re very good for me, Lisbon.” The tiniest smile. He was enjoying this moment. “You’re so bossy.”

She felt ridiculous at how much it pleased her to hear it. And he had said it as though it was something he had been contemplating for some time. Still feeling his scrutiny and needing to get her fluctuating emotions under control all she could think to say was “Yeah? Well, get used to it.”

Jane handed the form back to his boss and said with some anticipation. “Let’s go tell Agent Darcy where to get off.”

CBI Part 4 soon 


	4. Part 4

WICKED THINGS DONE RED Part 4  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was. 

CBI

“From now on, Jane can’t be field-active without supervision twenty-four-seven, and that means you no longer have access to him without one of us at his side every moment.” Lisbon explained to Susan Darcy. “That means he’s no longer your whipping boy you can just order around whenever you need him.” Lisbon took great personal satisfaction in saying the next part. “It also means you no longer have exclusive jurisdiction over this case. Like it or not, we’re all in this together.” Lisbon shoved the legal document across the table to Agent Darcy who briefly perused it.

Darcy looked at Lisbon. “Fine. We’ll work it together. I can live with that. This means I have access to Jane’s file and anything you have thus far on Debbie Daniels. Can you live with that?”

Darcy should have been a lawyer. She had the right to see Jane’s file, as she was now one of Jane’s designated (if temporary) superiors. But wanting a look inside it was just Darcy’s way of shoving back. “Agreed.” There was no choice anyway, and the FBI agent would find nothing that two court cases’ hadn’t already exposed about Jane’s past or his current state of mind. 

Cho poked his head in the door. “Boss..?” Agent Darcy and Lisbon had sequestered themselves in Interview Room 2 for a private talk. Looked like it was over. “Ted Daniels is here.”

Lisbon nodded. “Thanks. Put him in my office. We’re running out of rooms.” She raised her eyebrows to Darcy. “You want to question him or shall I?”

Darcy stood. “I’ll do it. But I want every session between Jane and the Daniels woman recorded.”

“Always,” Lisbon said, breathing a sigh of relief that the woman would be distracted for a few hours with the lying Ted Daniels. Once Darcy was gone Lisbon motioned with her head for Cho to enter. “Close the door.”

He sat opposite her and she was always grateful for Cho’s level headedness. When emotions around her were rocketing into the sky out of control - including her own - Cho was usually just getting around to firing his engines. “I want you to be in that room with Jane and Debbie or who-ever she is every minute. Don’t let him con you into leaving for even a second.”

He trusted Lisbon and he was happy to do whatever his boss asked of him but “I have a suggestion.” Cho offered.

“Let’s hear it.”

“We may be able to get more out of this woman if Jane is in the room alone with her. If she thinks no one is listening in she might start telling him things we want to hear.” 

It was true of course. But she was still reluctant to let Jane more than a few steps out of her reach. What if the woman was sent by Red John to kill Jane? It was a stretch. If Red John wanted Jane dead, he could have easily done it a dozen times in the last nine years. Jane wasn’t exactly a master of self defence. “Was she searched?”

Cho shook his head. “You want her searched?”

Lisbon knew a full body search was legally out-of-bounds since Debbie Daniels had not been brought in as a suspect, and up to this minute she was still not a suspect of anything other than weaving an elaborate fiction. “I want her pockets emptied before the interview. And I want you and me on the other side of the glass watching and listening to everything but...” Lisbon stated emphatically, “I want you to tell her that we will not listen in. Make like we’re being nice and giving them some privacy for a few.” She explained. “If the order comes from me through you, it’ll sound more legit. Maybe she’ll spill something we can use.”

“I doubt it’ll fool Jane.”

Maybe not. “Jane will agree. I’m only concerned with conning her.” 

CBI

Lisbon found Jane in the kitchen stirring a mug of tea. As she approached he popped two pills in his mouth and took a swallow, making a face. Lisbon walked softly up to him, noticing that this time the beverage was the green stuff; as colorless as straw and probably as tasty. “Stomach upset?”

He had not heard her approach and his body jerked in surprise, but in a rare show of honesty regarding his physical state he nodded. 

He was probable in pain, too, hence the pills, although she knew he would not admit it. Lisbon leaned against the counter facing out so she could talk to him face to face while he added honey to his tea. “Look. Now that Darcy’s out of our hair for the next couple of hours, I want you to interview the Daniels woman again. We’ll be watching but we’ll turn off the sound. Maybe if she thinks we’re giving her some privacy she’ll be more forthcoming with whatever brought her here.” And more forthcoming to you.

Jane seemed surprised. “What happened to my “emotionally fragile” state?”

Lisbon shrugged, though she was still worried about that. “So far she’s made no direct threats, and it’s reasonable that she’s hiding something. If we want to determine what that is, I think we need to give her some space. So if you’re okay with it...” Lisbon left it hanging. If Debbie Daniels really was a Red John disciple and if Jane wanted nothing more to do with the woman, well, so much the better. But they were never going to know that unless the woman started really talking.

“No, I’ll do it.” Jane glanced over his shoulder back to the hall where Debbie Daniels still waited under guard. “I’m...curious.” He said.

Few words, Lisbon thought. It was unlike him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.” He seemed awfully distracted. 

“Look if you want someone in the room with you –“

“-I said I’m fine.”

He sounded sincere. Maybe he was fine, but as far as she could tell he seemed...it was hard to pinpoint it – as though he hadn’t slept in a year. She nodded. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

 

He swallowed the last of the tea. “I’m ready now. Let’s go.”

CBI

Debbie Daniels smiled at him when he entered, and her eyes watered again. She hadn’t stopped sniffing or crying since she’d arrived.

Lisbon had Cho convey the lie about the lack of listening-in and then he joined her in the observation room. From behind the two-way glass they prepared themselves to watch and hear the whole show.

Debbie Daniels reached for Jane’s hand as he walked by but he skirted the table, preferring to stand, as was often his habit on any investigation. He seemed in control of himself and his own body language, casually slipping his hands into his pants pocket as though she were just any other suspect. 

Debbie Daniels recognised the cool, professional demeanor and she sat back, somewhat crestfallen. “Oh,” she said. “You’re just here to interrogate me some more.” She shook her head. “I’m tired, Paddy. Please no more questions.” 

“It’s Mister Jane to you.”

She looked over at him sharply and huffed. “Still as arrogant as ever.” She observed. “You’d think losing your daughter because of your mouth would have taught you something.”

Lisbon could tell that her comment had hit him where it hurt but he kept his cool. “I didn’t lose here. She was taken from me, along with my wife.”

“I’m your wife.” Debbie answered her voice as weary as her expression. “You already know that, you just refuse to believe it.”

“You might look like her but so far you’ve offered no real proof.”

Debbie’s face darkened. “Jesus-what has happened to you, Paddy?’ She asked, refusing - no doubt deliberately - to use his proper name. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Remember the river? When you were fifteen, I used to take you down there on the back of my Honda. We’d go swimming.” She smiled to her hands folded on the table before her, to herself, almost in secret. “And when there were no adults around, we’d go skinny dipping. You used to complain about your lack of chest hair.” She smiled over at him seductively. “But I never complained. I always liked smooth.”

Jane looked away. “Why don’t we talk about Red John? If he sent you here, there has to be a reason. He doesn’t take a leak without a reason, even if it’s an insane one.”

Debbie sighed, sitting back in her chair. “He let me go. I told you that. I think he grew tired of keeping an eye on me.” Her eyes turned inward as her thoughts did. “He seemed to want to...rectify what he did to our family. He seemed almost...remorseful, in that intense, angry way of his.”

“Remorseful?” Jane snorted. “Sure he was.” Jane stood and paced a little. “Remorse suggests a correcting of motives or action. Would you like to know what your “remorseful” Master has done in the last year?” Jane stopped just a foot from where she was sitting, looking down on her, on the suspect; the lair; the subject; the falsehood that was Debbie Daniels. “He murdered two men and a family of four - a man, his wife and their two teenage sons. The dad and the sons probably just got in the way and had to be killed. It’s the women he likes to slaughter. He gets off on it.”

Debbie Daniels rubbed her eyes. “All I know is as long as I stayed with Ted Daniels, you were safe. Red John would not hurt you as long as I did what he wanted.” She whispered. “You getting hurt, or killed, would have destroyed the rest of me.”

“Why didn’t you leave? Run away? Just disappear?” He suddenly demanded angrily, pacing away from her and the tale of false woe she was spinning. 

Debbie thrust her palms out to him in appeal. “Because he said he would kill you! Goddamnit - how many different ways are you going to make me explain this?? I was trying to survive. Just like the circuit. Just like Mom and her drinking and dad’s hatred of you and Alex. I would have done anything to see you again – anything.” She stopped and sighed heavily once more. Sometime in the last few hours dark circles had appeared beneath her eyes. “Losing you too would have made all these years pointless. I waited. He made me wait and...and hope.” She wiped away tears that refused to stay hidden. “I had hope, Paddy, that’s it.”

Jane stared back at her, his face a mask of doubt and his eyes watchful. “You want to know the reason I don’t believe you’re Angela Jane?” 

Debbie shrugged. “I need a cigarette.” She commented, and then decided to answer him properly. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, Paddy, you always have the answer to everything, babe’.”

He blinked and a twitch started at the corner of his mouth. The he recovered and said. “Because Angela would never have left me to face that alone.” He thrust an anger finger at her. “She would never have abandoned me to watch from a distance while they put Charlotte in the ground.”

Debbie, appearing as though she knew exactly of what he spoke, said “But I always wanted you to grow up a bit, didn’t I?” She let out a huge breath in a single blow. “Look. You think I abandoned you and so you don’t believe me and... I guess that’s how you want it, Paddy, but...I’ve been here for hours and I’m exhausted. I tired of all this and I want to go home. I want to go to my sister-in-law’s, so let me go or get me a goddamn lawyer.” She looked over at him, her face insulted and so angry with him, and disappointed, the way a wife might be disappointed in a foolish husband. “But if you think losing Char’ was any less hard on me, - screw you. I know where your guilt is, so don’t try and lay any of it on me.”

Lisbon saw Jane swallow hard. He stared back, frozen in time. He and his suspect seemed as though they were now not in an interrogation room at the CBI headquarters, they were standing in their own kitchen nine years ago, arguing as a husband and wife sometimes do. “What the hell do you mean?”

Debbie stared back passively. “I mean I know why losing her is still killing you even now. I know why it hurts you more than losing me did. I understand...you were her father, you loved her...”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“I know you and Charlotte argued, Paddy, I was in the kitchen, I heard. She was being defiant, and you called her a brat.”

Lisbon saw right away that the words had hit a sore spot and Jane immediately lost some of his perfect exterior. His control had been shaken. “Shut your mouth.” He shrugged to shift his perfect surface back in place but it was put-on and stiffly enforced. “A good guess.” He countered logically. “Dad’s and daughters argue. It comes with the territory.” 

“You called her a brat. You said: “Why do you have to be such a brat?”.” Debbie started crying at the memory. Silent, sad tears full of regret but tempered with a wife and mothers’ understanding. “She wanted to wear her party dress to school but it was an outdoor activity day and we wouldn’t let her. So you had to go tell her to change and she refused.” Debbie let the tears falls. More to follow the thousands that had already poured from her since the interviews began. 

“It was just an argument, Paddy, it didn’t mean anything. She still loved you.” Debbie took her eyes away from his stricken face. “You argued, she finally changed her dress to the checkered with the pockets and then you left for the studio.” Debbie shrugged at the uselessness of regret and sorrowful memory. “Charlotte went to school mad at you. She didn’t say goodbye to you and she didn’t exchange your morning kisses on the cheek. That’s the last time you saw her.” Debbie spoke freely of her daughter, her face twisted with both pain and the sweet memories of a beautiful and deeply loved child. “She adored you, babe’, you were her daddy, her Aqua-man*. You know what she said to me after you left?”

Jane was not looking at her now. “Shut up.” His face said another thing. It said there was no way Debbie Daniels could possible know the things she was saying. There was no way she could ever on earth possess that knowledge. An impossibility was staring Jane in the face, and he was flinching.

Debbie was crying heavily but silently. Tears were hopeless things. They drained out of you like poison yet nothing changed, and the bitterness was left behind to eat at your soul. “She asked me if you would still be mad at her when you came home.” Debbie said. “I told her of course not – “Daddy was never mad at you at all, honey. Of course he won’t be. Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole world. You’re his Strawberry; his very special angel.”.”

Jane had his fingers pressed to his eyes to stop the cumbersome tears that had started and now refused to stop. “You can’t know this.” He said softly. “You can’t possibly know any of this.”

“Babe’, I know everything because I was there.” 

He threw a face twisted with rage and disbelief at her, his body shaking. “Shut your mouth. You can’t possibly know this.” He shouted.

Jane circled the room for a moment, his steps random, his right fingers rubbing at leaking eyes when he looked back over at the woman who claimed to be his long murdered and still loved wife, Lisbon knew they had lost him. “What did she say?” He asked Debbie, his voice so soft it was barely audible over the speaker. “What did Strawberry say to you?”

Debbie stood and walked over to him, taking his shaking hands in her own. “She said she was going to make you a special picture at school. They were rock and sea-shell collecting as part of a science outing. She was going to make you a collage’.” Debbie rested her forehead against Jane’s and he allowed it. He did not pull away. He was being held up by her. “Because of the ocean, babe’. Char’ wanted to make her Aqua-man a special picture.” 

Debbie took his face in her hands and began to lay tiny kisses on his cheeks and lips. “I know this has been killing you ever since, because the last time you spoke to her, you argued, but she loved you just as much as any other day. Char’ adored you, babe’. Don’t you understand that? Even if you couldn’t save her, you were still her special hero. You were her daddy. Nothing can change that. Nothing will ever change that.”

Jane lost his strength and slid down the wall. Debbie went with him still holding on, still cupping his face in strong, loving and gentle hands. Hands that were used to bringing comfort to a beloved mate, once upon a time. “So I want you to stop torturing yourself.” She whispered in his ear. “Okay babe’? My blonde angel? Please, please will you finally stop blaming yourself?” She pleaded, touching his lips and cheek and nose and eyebrows with delicate kisses of affection. Each one a tiny promise, a careful caressing seduction of her long lost husband. “I’m here now, and we’re okay now – right? Aren’t we? We’re going to be okay.”

Jane let her kiss him. He seemed done with any more protest and after a moment, put his hands on her shoulders, staring into her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m s-so sorry I l-let her die.” Jane broke down in sobs, resting his head on her chin, and she let him. It seemed natural and habitual. It was a thing they had done before whenever he had been in desperation and need, and she would come to offer comfort and provide sweet reparation.

“I know, baby, I know.” She rocked him a little. 

Lisbon watched silently. Debbie-Angela was his savior only this time it was not a rescue from a father or a hated home-life, it was a rescue from loneliness and guilt. She would save him once more. Very much like an angel sent from heaven Debbie Daniels - or Angela Ruskin-Jane - had swooped down and gathered her lover in her arms, then whisking him away when he was barely a man, saving him first from a life he had grown to hate in his youth and now, here in this room, rescuing him once again, this time freeing him from his own guilt and self-loathing. 

Cho said. “I don’t know, Boss.” He seemed as stunned as Lisbon was by the turn of events. “Maybe she is the real deal. Maybe she really is his wife.”

Beside him Lisbon was very still. In his boss Cho recognised it as a sign of profound concern. 

“Maybe she is.” Lisbon said. Jane now seemed to think so certainly but the sudden altered situation had introduced a whole new set of worries. It was potentially a good thing for Jane if Debbie really was Angela Ruskin, but a huge problem for Jane and for all of them if she wasn’t, since he now believed she was. Either way, despite all their precautions and Jane’s own self-assurance, the damn woman had won. 

“It’s okay now.” Debbie/Angela was saying beyond the glass and holding the man she laid claim to as her husband. Jane was no longer arguing. He was helpless in her arms, comfortable - clinging to her, as though he belonged there. 

Angela lovingly whispered into his ear. “Everything will be okay now, baby-doll. I promise.”

Lisbon reached out a hand turned off the sound. Angela’s soft reassurances and Jane’s quiet sniffing were silenced. 

Cho asked. “What do you want to do?”

Lisbon crossed her arms. Her body ached from standing still so long and in her a growing lick of fear rose, making her chest hurt. “I guess that depends on Jane. He just got his wife back.” Even if it might not be true. Even if the woman really was just a good actress and a thorough researcher and con-artist. Even if it might mean other things. For the moment Lisbon refused to consider what those might be. 

“What do you think he’ll want to do?” Cho asked. 

He meant the CBI and Jane’s place in it. What does anyone do when one’s dead spouse shows up after nearly a decade? Lisbon forced herself to breath regularly. There was no single possibility that she was one hundred percent certain she could live with. “We’ll ask him.”

CBI

Lisbon tread with kitten feet. “Jane, are you absolutely certain this woman is Angela Ruskin?” She asked him softly.

Jane had finally left Debbie Daniels’ side for a moment to attend to his nerves and appearance in the men’s room. His face was flushed and his eyes were tired yet within them shone a new light she hadn’t seen since...ever. 

“Yes.” He said.

She had insisted on speaking to him privately in her office before another moment was wasted. “In every way?” She asked once more, pushing him to explain why beyond the things Debbie had tried to make obvious, and beyond his whys. “In absolutely every way? You said yourself that Red John could have coached her on this. He could have coached her for years.”

Jane sat but he was restless, his feet shifting, his body not relaxed, not wanting to be there. “It isn’t possible for Red John to have taught her things he himself couldn’t possibly know.” Jane asserted. “He was not even in the picture until after I left for work, until hours later.” He looked away to the door and the hallway beyond where in a small room his wife waited for him patiently. “Only Angie knew about the dress and the argument.” He said quietly.

“Jane...” Lisbon licked her lips, bit down on her bottom lip because she could see where this might be going. She did not doubt his sincerity but she did doubt his heart. An aching heart is only too glad to latch onto a thing that provides relief. Jane saw his wife in this woman. Maybe he was right but maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. “I want to be sure.” Lisbon said. “You want to be sure. If we do a DNA analysis on her and we can prove that Debbie Daniels is really Angela Ruskin, then we’ll both know beyond any doubt that she’s telling the truth.”

Jane stared at her. “You don’t trust my judgement.”

How to say it without insult? “I trust that you believe she’s telling you the truth.” Lisbon ventured. “I’m sorry but I don’t...not yet.”

“A DNA test? There’s only her brother who is alive now and I have no idea where he is. Probably in Europe.”

Lisbon figured as much. Angie Ruskin had no DNA on file so they would need a sample of hers and then Danny Ruskin’s with which to compare it against. Lisbon could see it in Jane’s eyes. He wanted to leave with the woman, get away from all the officialdom and have some private time with his resurrected wife. “Will you stay in town that long? Until we get hold of Danny Ruskin? Let’s be completely sure about her. I’d appreciate it if you’d do that for me.”

Jane rubbed his pant leg, his eyes still wandering to the door. “Yeah. We won’t go anywhere.”

Lisbon could swear she had heard a silent “for now” tacked onto the end of that last sentence. “Plus there is still an active case on our desks. You haven’t even listened to the recordings yet. I need you in on this one, Jane.”

He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll listen to the recording.”

Lisbon relaxed for a moment. Appealing to his curiosity with a mystery was the one thing she was counting on, and not only because they still had an open case. Debbie Daniels, as far as she was concerned, was still a mystery needing to be solved. “Thank you, Jane, I appreciate it.” She prepared her copy of the recording on her own lap-top. “Now, as for Danny Ruskin, I’ll have Van Pelt put out a....”

Susan Darcy marched by Lisbon’s office window like she was going to a battle. Jane said. “Where’s Darcy going?” He looked across the cluttered desk of his boss. “She’s going to interrogate Angie again isn’t she?” He asked. “Did you arrange that? Is that why you wanted me in here?” His tone was accusing. “So I wouldn’t interfere?”

“No, Jane – wait.” But he was already acting like a protective husband and he sprung up, wrenching open the door. 

Lisbon scrambled after him. “Jane.”

But he was not listening anymore and ran to catch up with Agent Darcy who had already entered the room where their mystery woman sat sipping coffee.

Jane entered and stood by the woman’s side, glaring at both Darcy and Lisbon. “You’re not talking to her anymore without her lawyer present.” He stated firmly and looking at his watch. “And he’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

Lisbon frowned. “You called a lawyer?”

He said back. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re a stickler for the law - it’s her right, isn’t it?” Jane looked down at Debbie/Angela with a small smile of reassurance. “This’ll be over soon.” He said to her kindly.

Lisbon shook her head a bit, a little confused by him. “Jane, there’s no need.”

“Are you going to charge her?” He asked, looking at each of the agents. “Because if you’re not going to charge her then by rights she ought to be allowed to leave right now.” He waited and then asked again when neither of them responded. “Right?”

Darcy actually glanced up at Lisbon standing next to her. Even the great FBI investigator did not know what to say.

Jane ignored Darcy for the moment, keeping his eyes on his boss. “Tell me the truth or once her lawyer’s here, we’re leaving and I swear to God you’ll never see us again.”

Lisbon’s heart beat against her chest wall painfully. She believed him and could feel her blood pressure spike and a seed of panic set in. “N-no,” She said, “We, uh, we have no charges against her.” Lisbon said.

Darcy narrowed her eyes at Jane, suspicion for both he and the Daniels woman still alive and well in their dark depths. “Neither does the FBI, but during the last nine years this woman claims to have been in Red John’s presence more than once and we need to know what she knows about him.”

Jane read between the lines. “But you have no actual charges?”

Darcy leaned back, crossing her arms. “No, there are no charges...yet.”

Jane gently took his wife’s upper arm, urging her to stand. “Then for now, the questions are over. We’re going.”

Lisbon reminded him. “There is still an on-going investigation and your assistance is required.” She knew it was emotional blackmail to remind him of his duties but then Jane never took his investigative duties as seriously as did her other agents. Maybe being easy on him over the years had been a mistake. Seeing how the day was turning out, it had been an error she now regretted. “You’re still our consultant.” Our sounded less personal than my.

“We’ll be back in twenty-four hours.” Jane told her. “As for a case, all you really have is a recording and I have some vacation time coming, don’t I? Well, I’m taking twenty-four hours of it starting now.”

Jane was really going to disappear with the woman. “What about the lawyer?” Lisbon asked.

“That was a bluff.” Jane said. “’Though I would have called one if you had refused to let her go.”

Lisbon appealed to their previous discussion, to his personal ethics. “Jane, you promised me – “

“I’m not breaking my promise.” He assured her as he steered Debbie/Angela toward the door. “I said we’d be back and we will be.”

Lisbon knew she sounded a little pathetic. “You’ll check-in, won’t you?” She asked. Checking in sounded less personal than please call me. It preserved her position in her mind and in his life as his boss and not as the only woman in the room whose heart was aching as he stepped through the door. “And let us know where you are?”

Jane let Angela/Debbie step through the door ahead of him. He nodded but Lisbon did not feel reassured by it.

Not one bit.

As soon as they were out of sight Lisbon wasted no time. She excused herself from Darcy’s presence and not even sparing the minute or so it would take for her to walk from the hallway outside the interview rooms to the bullpen, she dialed Cho’s cellular number. “Cho, Jane just left the office with the Daniels woman. I need you and Rigsby to follow them over the next twenty-four hours. Be discreet but do not let them out of your sight, not for a minute.”

She listened as Cho voiced his concerns with her plan. “I don’t care if Jane might not like it and by the way he won’t find out if you’re careful. Cho this is important.” Everything in her told her this female was not Angela Ruskin Jane. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just her own vulnerabilities where Patrick Jane was concerned, but every hour of police work she had logged over the last sixteen years told her that the surveillance was worth the possibility of Jane’s wrath. “Cho – hurry!” She tried to swallow her fears. They sat a bitter lump in her throat. “Jane may be in danger.”

CBI Part 5 soon 

* http : / / en. wikipedia. org / wiki / Aquaman


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second honeymoon doesn't go as planned.

WICKED THINGS DONE RED Part 5  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.  
CBI

Her fifth coffee of the day was bitter, but stewed together with extra cream and a couple of heaping teaspoons of sugar it was made palatable, and she sucked at it like a hungry calf.

Almost twenty-four hours had gone by and no call from Jane. Cho had phoned in from his mobile outside Jane’s apartment to say Jane had been thoughtful enough to send some Chinese take-out to his tailing colleagues’ SUV parked just a few cars down the block, and that Rigsby had eaten most of it.

That at least had made Lisbon smile. Some of the old Jane leaking through. They should have known of course that tailing Jane without his knowledge was a foolish bet at best. The man had eyes on the back of his head.

Lisbon glanced at the clock for the twentieth time that morning. It was eleven-thirty-five. Just as she was considering using her lunch-hour to go pound her fist on Jane’s front door herself, a familiar face stuck his blonde head into her office. “Hey, Lisbon.” 

Lisbon had no idea that she had been figuratively holding her breath. She let out a stale lung full of air and forced her body to relax when she saw him. Jane was not smiling, but he was at least present and accounted for as he said he would be. 

“Hey.” She said evenly, surprised at herself by the sudden relief flooding through her. “How goes it?”

He shrugged. “Getting to know one another again.” He said. “Sort of.” He added quietly. “I guess eight years changes a person.”

Lisbon did not know of whom he was speaking, himself or his supposed wife. “Yeah.” was all she could think to say. “You know Darcy has more questions for her.”

He nodded. “Angie wrote it all down over night. I helped her figure it out, just so we can get this over-with as fast as possible.”

Lisbon nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute.” So they had spent the night talking and writing, not engaged in other, more strenuous activities - an even greater relief. Yet this woman could not be his dead wife. No. It was not possible. Angela Jane was dead and Lisbon clung stubbornly to that personal assertion. To think otherwise left her hands cold, and made her heart ache just a little. 

Jane disappeared down the hallway and Lisbon stood, abandoning the daily report from a week ago that she had been trying to force her mind on for the last hour. Emotionally pulling herself together, she straightened her shirt and jacket. 

Cho and Rigsby had returned to the office shortly after Jane and the Daniels woman. Her team had done what she had asked –not entirely with the subterfuge she had hoped though Jane had not rubbed it in her face for once – which was in all honesty a bad sign. It meant he was thoroughly distracted at present.

Lisbon entered Interview Room 1. Darcy and the Daniels woman were already seated. Jane stood nearby, close to Debbie Daniels, hovering protectively as though she was his property. And the Daniels woman would every-so-often look up at Jane with warm eyes, as though he in turn belonged to her.

Lisbon felt the recently shed tension headache return.

Darcy was speaking as she went over the written statement that Jane had helped Debbie Daniels prepare. “Well, this seems comprehensive enough.”

“It’s complete.” Jane asserted. “Everything you wanted to know about the years Angela knew Red John, and the details of any contact she may have had with him.”

Darcy glanced at Jane. It was clear she still did not trust him as far as she could toss him. “How do we know this is the truth?”

Jane shook his head. “You don’t, but you’re just going to have to-”

By way of an interruption, Darcy raised her eyebrows, clearly irritated with him now. “How about we let Debbie answer for herself?”

“Angela.” Jane corrected.

Darcy pursed her lips. “Well that has yet to be determined, isn’t it?” she turned to Debbie. “You have still given me no corroborating evidence that you are whom you claim to be.”

Debbie sighed wearily. “When Danny is found, you’ll have it.”

Darcy nodded but was unconvinced. “If we locate him - yes.” She closed the file in front of her and folded her hands. “In the meantime, don’t leave Sacramento. If you do, I’ll have you back here so fast, you won’t believe it until you’re back in that seat.”

Jane rolled his eyes and took Debbie’s arm. “Oh please.” He remarked to Darcy.

But Debbie stopped him for a moment with a gentle hand covering his. She looked at the FBI agent. “Look, my father owned a small cabin near Bidwell that he left to me in his Will. I’d-” she glanced at Patrick. “We’d like to spend a few days out there. I can give you the location... you can even inform the local sheriff if you want.”

Darcy nodded. “Indeed we will.” She located a lined sheet of paper from within her folder and handed it to Debbie along with a ballpoint pen. “Write down the address.”

Debbie did as she was told and gave Darcy back her pen. “Thank you.” Debbie said, sounding understandably relieved to finally be leaving.

Darcy did not answer Debbie Daniels but where Patrick Jane was concerned, FBI’s finest could not help herself and said “Jane,” the warning in her voice unmistakable, “for now you’re on a long leash. Don’t screw that up.”

Jane responded by ignoring her and, taking his wife’s arm, left the room. After a moment, Lisbon stood up to follow. 

“Agent Lisbon,” Darcy called her back. “I need to speak to you.”

Lisbon barely turned her head. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Lisbon found Jane at his desk, placing books and files into a cardboard box. Debbie lingered nearby in the hallway just outside the bullpen. Lisbon ignored the woman’s watchful eyes.

Lisbon had had the feeling that this was where Jane had been heading –to the swift wrapping up of his career with the CBI. She watched him for a few seconds, her heart sinking and a cold fear growing in the pit of her stomach. They were two sensations she was beginning to loathe. “So this is it? You’re leaving?”

Jane didn’t look up. “Yes.” He said simply.

Crossing her arms - “Why?” Of course she understood why. She just wanted to hear it from him.

Jane stopped stuffing handfuls of books into the flimsy box. He looked at her. “You really have to ask me that? You know why.”

“What about the last eight years of hunting Red John? What about bringing him to justice – oh wait – sorry, I forgot. What about killing Red John with your bare hands and watching him bleed out?”

Jane stopped his hurried movements, resting his hands on the edge of the box. “I’m tired, Lisbon. I’m sick of this hunt, I’m sick of Red John – I’ve...I’ve had enough. I just got my wife back and as much as I don’t believe in them, that’s like a miracle, one I am not going to squander on another ten years of wanting a revenge it’s become obvious I’m not likely to ever get. So I’m done – I’m cutting my losses. I’m getting out while I still can.”

“And what about the team?” It was a lame argument and she knew it. “What about us? We need you here.”

Jane went back to filling the box with his many books. Ones Lisbon had taken secret delight in watching him read over and over through the years. Reading seemed to sooth him. Lisbon glanced to the brown leather couch. There was a permanent depression where for hours each week the blonde’s backside had rested, his mind thumbing through those hard-backed tomes, his eyes glued to each word, his breathing even and calm. Jane’s little literary couch of learning and peace.

“As you’ve often mentioned – you solved cases before I came, and you’ll solve cases after I leave.” He reminded her. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”

Suddenly her blood boiled. She felt somehow rejected and let down by him, all because he had decided to pursue his own life again, which he had every right to. What about her career? Her rights? What about what she had planned for her life? Over the action-packed, sometimes fun, often dangerous, always satisfying cases in which they had gone hunting together, all of it had somehow become deeply entwined with him, and all of it had slowly come to involve him in an inexplicably emotional way. Though he did not know it, her life included him. 

But she could not afford to let out too much steam at this juncture. She still had a case and he was going and that was it. Nothing was going to change it and so there was nothing for it but to say “How would you know?” She was angry though. Too angry to stay and try to talk him out of it, not with the little woman standing nearby, listening to every word. “You know what? Go. Run away. It won’t be the first time.”

Jane paused. It was almost imperceptible the sadness that struck his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had sprung. “Thanks for everything, Lisbon.”

Lisbon walked away, back to her office, slamming the door. Screw Darcy, the damned woman could wait. She sat down behind her desk and forced herself to look at a pile of paperwork two inches high and the list of phone messages neglected since that morning.

 

Jane closed the flaps of the box, aware that the team was watching his every move. Rigsby, Cho and Van pelt were staring at him from across the bullpen, Rigsby swivelling in his chair nervously, Cho with his bulging arms crossed in disapproval, and Grace’s eyes watering while she blinked them furiously.

“It was a pleasure working with you all.” Jane said simply and leaving it at that, draped his jacket over one arm, gathered up the box with his other and nodding to the team, disappeared down the hall with Debbie Daniels beside him, her left arm around his waist.

CBI

Rigsby stuck his head in her office door. “Hey boss.” He nodded back toward the bullpen. “We’re all going for Italian tonight. You wanna’ come?”

Not feeling like playing at the status quo, she shook her head, trying for and succeeding in only a wan smile back. Jane was gone; it didn’t feel like status quo anymore. The little CBI family she had slowly come to know and value was now incomplete. It was missing one of its members, and it made her feel like shit. “No thanks. Got work to finish up.”

Rigsby nodded, knowing from experience not to push his boss to be friendly when she wanted to be left alone. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

“’Nite Rigsby.” Lisbon bent her face back over the paperwork but it was just words and numbers on paper and held no meaning. She was making like work but her mind was elsewhere. Not any place she preferred really, but still not on the job. She wondered what Jane was doing and then, recalling that Jane was no longer alone in his wanderings, regretted even thinking his name. Jane and his so-called wife were most likely getting physically reacquainted. Lisbon tried not to think about how much that particular vision bothered her.

Her phone rang. “Lisbon.” She said into the receiver, not interested –whoever it was.

“Teresa.”

A voice from her recent past. Not an unpleasant voice. “Walter? I thought you were in Asia for the next year?”

“No, no.” He assured her. “I’m back for a few weeks and wondered if you’d like to join me for dinner?” Before she got the chance to form a response, he added “We’ll go to your favorite place. That’s that Taiwanese place – right?”

Lisbon remembered. She and Jane used to go there once in a while, when the job demanded the evenings from them. The food was great and the atmosphere was quiet and dark. They’d talk about the current case, the food, or their respective theories as to which suspect could be guilty. And share their personal thoughts on this or that aspect of the crime. Two blessed hours apart from the blood scrapings and the forensic guys, from the witnesses’ tearful sniffles and the stern frown of watchful officials, some time away from even the team. Two wonderful hours just for them and them alone. Those were good dinners.

“Um, how about we do Greek instead?” She suggested. “I know a place – Oresete’s - where you can even beak the dishes – for a price that is.”

“Cool.” Walter said. “We’ll break ‘em all.”

“Walter, it costs ten dollars a plate.” Though Mashburn could well afford it. 

“I’ll meet you there at eight.” He said.

Lisbon hung up and took a deep breath. Saved by a ringing bell.

CBI

Lisbon clutched at Walter’s thinning hair with clawed hands, grabbing onto him for dear life as she rocked on his hardened member. Neither had spoken much after dinner, both understanding what the other had wanted for dessert and both knowing what the other liked when it came to sex. 

Lisbon liked to be on top and Walter was okay with it, gladly letting the hot-blooded, raven haired CBI agent take the lead in their infrequent but satisfying sexual trysts.

Lisbon appreciated the silence from her on-again, off-again sexual partner. It made things simpler. As her hands clutched at Walter’s thinning brown hair, she imagined thick blonde curls, her fingers getting deliciously tangled up in them. As her hips rocked with steadily increasing thrusts and she briefly opened her eyes to Walter’s hairy torso, she then closed them again, imagining a smooth, taut chest, one shiny with a film of sweat put there by her body’s urgent and hungry rhythms.

As she moaned and thrust she pictured blue eyes, not brown ones, looking up at her in rapture and the graceful hands of a magician who had fought for every inch of his success as she had. She imagined smaller, more malleable fingers, those of a loving partner, tickling her sides and caressing her back and breasts, not the thicker, manicured, spoilt hands of a rich man used to snapping his fingers for whatever he desired.

As she groaned - close, so close - Lisbon imagined Jane’s gentle voice in her ear, whispering dirty things as his cock shivered and burst inside her, a man who’s affections had been saved in memory for a dead lover for so long – a man who was now hers – hers and no one else’s, and not the worldly cock of a man who had screwed almost everything in sight since he made his first million.

Lisbon felt guilty at using Walter but delighted in the momentary fantasy – it was too good to pass up now that she knew she would never be with Jane. Not ever. Then that thought itself popped the fantasy like a balloon. She even jumped at the imagery, her desire for Walter, or for even an orgasm, now draining out of her in an instant.

But for Walter, because she was using him, she pretended to orgasm, so he could finish and get something out of this date that was a sham, a falsehood she had cooked up to soothe her own confused, anxious and hurt feelings.

On the King’s four-poster bed Lisbon rolled off him, laying to the side and sprawled spread-eagle on his expensive silk sheets, panting to catch her breath.

Walter rolled onto his side and looked her over, up and down. A small bedside lamp he had left on meant he could see every inch of her. “You’re so pretty, Teresa.”

He always called her Teresa, as though he had been courting for years instead of just fucking her now and then when it was convenient for them both. Right now the use of her first name on his lips irritated her. Jane never did that. Jane only called her Teresa when it was really important, as though it were a secret code between them. First names when things were really bad and they needed to communicate with each other in total trust and honesty. 

But then Jane was gone for good. No names between them at all anymore.

Walter reached out and stroked her right breast with a finger. “Especially these hot little numbers.” He said appreciatively.

Lisbon rolled onto her left side, away from him and his unwanted fingers.

Walter took the hint. “Oh, I get it. Now that Jane’s gone, he’s all you can think about.”

Lisbon rolled back over to stare at him.

“Yeah,” He said to her look of surprise. “I heard all about it. Got friends in high places you know. Jane’s wife came back. That’s pretty crazy, huh? And then he quits to go and take up housekeeping again.” Walter was looking at her with that way of his, as though he understood a whole lot more than anyone might guess. 

“I know you’re crazy about him, Teresa, so you can drop that stunned look. I didn’t get where I am by being an idiot. Jane leaves and we're doing it the same night? I can put screws and nuts together." He shrugged. “It’s okay.” He assured her. “Any excuse to sleep with you is worth it, but we both know I’m not the solution. Three wives and a dozen girlfriends later makes that obvious. I’m not lifer material and I know it.”

Lisbon rolled away again. 

Walter sighed. “Look, why don’t you go shower and stay the night. Tomorrow I’ll order breakfast and then we can talk about how to get your Mister Jane back into the fold – okay?”

Lisbon sighed and sat up. A shower would probably feel good. 

But once under the spray she let the feelings she had been stomping on for days took hold full sway, and she sobbed quietly, sliding down the etched glass wall to the black marbled floor of the shower that was the size of her own kitchen, letting all the disappointment in herself and all the sadness of missed opportunities wash over and, hopefully, out of her. She hoped they would disappear down the drain and forever flow far away from her and her treacherous heart. 

Love hurt too much to follow. It was always one step ahead and had taunted her mercilessly every mile of her life, and more-so in the years since she had met Patrick Jane. Because as much as she cared for Jane, maybe she was stupid to believe he would have been worth the heartache. But at the same moment she also recalled how swiftly the man had gotten into her mind and heart. Like a virus, his presence had taken root despite her attempts to extradite him from her soul. Despite her every effort he had, with ridiculous ease, gotten in and snuggled down, making himself at home.

Once the storm of tears had passed, instead of feeling relived and renewed, she felt emptier. Shockingly, the old loving ache for the troublesome Jane remained. She turned off the shower tap, stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom and dried off.

She wondered if the often painful and frustrating but oh so good and heart-warming feelings for the blonde bastard always would hang around, like a ratty but beloved dust rag. “Son of a bitch.”

CBI

Foregoing any breakfast with Mashburn, Lisbon got to work extra early and entered the bullpen, tearing her eyes away from the empty couch, passing it right by, and addressing Cho. “Anything new on our recording?”

Cho swivelled to address her. “We left it on file with Missing Persons. Other than that, we’re still trying to track down the parents of any local missing kids, those families who moved away afterward. Still no luck.”

Grace looked at her. “Um,” she glanced toward Jane’s empty desk. “And Jane was in earlier to clean out the rest of his things.”

Lisbon nodded once. “Fine.” She headed to her office. “Get me Wainwright on the phone.”

Grace said while picking up and dialing. “Right, boss.”

Lisbon spoke to Wainwright at length about a replacement for Jane. “No, no, with all due respect, sir, I don’t want another show-man in here. Maybe find someone who’s had some real experience in Law-enforcement this time –working with kids, shelters, even social work, someone who’s done something real.” Lisbon knew it was her subconscious way to stick it to Jane but she was mad as hell at him for abandoning the team. “And someone who hasn’t been through the system from the inside would be a refreshing change.” After years of Jane’s barely legal antics, two ending in jail-time, she had a reputation to repair.

Lisbon hung up the phone. Ramona Warner, their office’s red-headed junior clerk, came by with her mail cart. “A big stack today.” She said cheerfully and dumped them on Lisbon’s desk.

“Thanks.” Lisbon said and gave only a passing glance at the pile of mostly officially looking letters held together by a rubber band. Pushing them aside for now, she concentrated on finishing up Jane’s separation papers, emailing them down to Payroll so they could cut him a cheque for his final week.

And that was that. Lisbon was itching for a real case, complete with dead body and blood on the walls, but her phone remained stubbornly silent. Biting the paper-work bullet, she snapped the rubber band from the stack of mail and sorted them one by one. Junk here, important letters there, personal way over there (there was only one), inter-office memo’s directly in front of her. Those she read one by one. None of them required immediate attention.

The one personal letter was a small envelope. She picked it up. It was stiff in her hands, like a small invitation card. Her name and business address hand been typed out. Strangely there was no post-mark or stamp. Tearing it open she turned it over and read the single sentence penned in Jane’s generous script.

“Berry’s Ice-cream Palace – Friday at 1:PM – J.”

Lisbon felt a surge of worry and, a thing she could not help, a small thrill of excitement. The note could only mean that Jane needed her for something. It also meant things might not be all that they seemed. Lisbon tried not to think about what that could be but she had nearly twenty-four hours to worry about it. It would be a long day and night.

CBI

Jane was sitting there, by the small green-curtained window, eating a small bowl of vanilla ice-cream covered in caramel syrup. He was waiting for her.

Lisbon slipped in beside him, waving away the waiter who came over to take her order. “Just some coffee.” She called after the man who hurried away to get it ready for her.

Lisbon looked across the small table at her former consultant. “What’s going on?”

Jane looked back, twirling his spoon over and over in the bowl and churning his ice-cream into a watery, beige-colored goo. “Gee, Lisbon, no “Hi, how are you, Jane?”?”

Lisbon was still mad. Glad to see him, but angry none-the-less. “Jane, I have a case.” she lied. “What is this about?”

Jane pushed the ice-cream mush away. He looked down at his hands, and then at her. “Call off the search for Danny Ruskin.”

She would force him to explain it all the way. The whole thing. She deserved it. “Why?”

He looked a little uncomfortable, and she took some well earned comfort in that. “You were right to be suspicious, Lisbon. Angela...Debbie... isn’t my wife. Besides if you do actually locate Danny, it could come to light how you let him escape.”

It was true enough, but she was willing to risk it if it made Jane squirm for a few minutes more. Lisbon made certain her expression didn’t change. Much. “I’m willing to take that risk. You still haven’t told me why you now think she isn’t your wife.” Not that it wasn’t good news - thrilling news - but also a little disturbing. Keeping her voice steady and making sure her face remained neutral - “Why do you think that? And when did you...?”

“She never asked to see Charlotte’s grave.” Jane answered simply. He stared out the window into the bright afternoon light, squinting, and then looked back at Lisbon. His eyes were sad but warm for her, and his mind was still as razor sharp as ever. “Now what mother would not ask to see her dead daughter’s grave?”

Of course. They should have noticed the absence of Debbie’s concern for when and how her precious daughter had been laid to rest. Going back over the conversations in her mind and the things she had heard, Lisbon recalled now that Debbie had not once asked about that. The woman had had her mind focused elsewhere. She had been far too busy conning Jane to think about the dead Charlotte. “So all that stuff in the interview room, your breakdown, the crying...”

Jane nodded, answering the question before she could finish it. “Fake. I had to make it look good so she would believe that I believed her. She needed to be absolutely convinced. To do that I had to be sure everyone else was convinced, too. To hide a small lie, you need a bigger one.”

Lisbon remembered Jane’s tears vividly. He had made it all look so real. It had certainly convinced her. “So there was never a moment where you actually believed her?”

Jane shrugged. “Maybe for minute or two, in the interview room, when she mentioned Charlotte’s dress. But it occurred to me soon after...”

“...that Red John might have been keeping an eye on you from before that day; that day when he...killed them.” Lisbon suggested.

Jane nodded. He suddenly looked exhausted. “Cho might be correct. Maybe Red John knows me from before my stint on TV. Maybe he’d been watching me for a while before that. With hidden cameras even, somewhere in the house. If so, he easily could have overheard and seen everything. He would know about the dress and...and the argument I had with Charlotte.”

His eyes turned to the window again to hide whatever he did not want to share with her about that day, and it was not her place to pry. 

“You sold that house.” She reminded him.

Jane nodded. “Yes but maybe we can get the new owners to let us have a look inside. If we find any of those cameras, they might give us a clue to why Red John was - is – so fixated on me.”

Lisbon took out her phone. “A Warrant for suspected evidence ought to do it.”

Jane sighed, sitting back. It seemed as though all his energy had been drained from him. He was slumping. “Sorry I had to lie to you. I figured this was the only way to find out what Red John’s real agenda is.”

“Where is she now?”

“Back at the cabin. I told her I was going out for wine and groceries. I have to get back there.”

“When I’m finished with the Judge, let me call Cho. I don’t want you there alone with her.”

For once Jane didn’t argue. 

But it was good to have him back under her radar. For that reason she didn’t mind his little ruse one bit. Lisbon gave her instructions to Cho then hung up. “How do you want to handle this?”

Jane stood. “I play along with her for a few hours or a few days and maybe she tells me more than she told you. Maybe she even leads us to Red John.”

“And maybe we find out why it was so important for Red John to send her to you now.” Lisbon reminded him, a question that still had no satisfactory answer.

Jane nodded. “That, too.”

“Do you have a gun with you?”

Jane started a little at that. “I got rid of it.”

“You’re not going back there without protection.”

“Cho will be outside.”

“I want you wired, and that’s non-negotiable.”

“I’m not working for you anymore.”

He wasn’t serious. He was just trying to assert his autonomy. He was being himself. “If you ever want to again, you’re wearing a wire.”

“Yes, boss.”

CBI

Cho made quick work of the wire, taping it to Jane’s chest and hiding the tiny battery pack in the inside pocket of his vest. “Don’t let her get too far away, and don’t let her...um, you know, touch you too much.” Cho advised.

Jane was amused. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worn a wire and it is for sure not my first con’.”

Cho accepted his rebuttal with good humor. “Your safe words are “Let’s talk about this, Angela”. You say it and we’ll be in there in seconds.”

“Thanks.” 

Lisbon didn’t like the idea of Jane going back to be alone with that woman. It was dangerous. They had no idea what Red John’s end game was concerning her. Maybe she had been sent to isolate Jane so Red John could pay him a leisurely call? Maybe just to milk Jane for information or kill him when it suited her. Maybe bring Jane to his mortal end for a reason they could not yet fathom. “Be careful.”

CBI

Angela was waiting for him when he returned with two bags of groceries in his hands and a bottle of white wine tucked under his left arm.

“What’s for dinner?” She asked, helpfully taking the bags from him. She opened cupboards and put the non-perishable things away while he dealt with the chicken and vegetables.

“Chicken breasts – marinated – asparagus and Spanish rice.” He answered, tucking the wine away in the door of the mini-fridge to chill for a while.

“I was thinking about that night.” She said drastically changing topics. “Sorry – it was just on my mind. I don’t know what happened after John took me away.” She closed the cupboards and crumpled the plastic grocery bags, tossing them in the tiny garbage bin with the flip-top lid. 

She then turned to look at him, crossing her arms tightly as though the room was chilly. “Can you tell me what you remember?” At his silence she added. “I’m sorry, babe’ maybe you don’t want to talk about it, but it hurts me to not know what you went through. Not being there...it’s like I...failed you or something.” She rubbed an index finger along the counter. A gesture of self-comfort, the way a cat would rub its cheek up against a pant-leg. “That’s how it feels anyway.”

Jane sat on the edge of the quaint double bed with the frilly pillow shams. “Um...I found Charlotte and...the woman I thought was you in our daughter’s bedroom. The police came and they questioned me...for hours and hours.”

“When did you get home?” At his puzzled expression she added. “I have often wondered if only you had got home an hour earlier, maybe none of this would have happened.”

Jane felt the old putrid pain of it welling up. It wasn’t like the question hadn’t also crossed his mind a thousand times or so. “I wish I had never done that damn show.” He whispered. “It changed everything. I lost everything that night.” The money had been too enticing. The fame too appealing, the notoriety, the excitement - the fun.

All of it had ended in a single agonizing breath when he saw the Red John note and when he found their bodies. Most especially his precious child’s whose end his greed and arrogance had wrought. She whose little arms he would never feel around his neck again, whose silly girl giggle he would never again hear, whose happy smile he would never see and so love her with the protective, proud, near insane level of adoration only a father can experience. 

Extraordinary the power she had had over his heart. Just the very act of her being born had caught him up in an intensity of love that had transcended common sense. One minute after her birth, she was still a stranger and yet he had at that same moment knew to his marrow that he loved her more than anything he had ever loved. It defied reason. 

Jane knew the team was overhearing their every word but he didn’t care. “I miss her so much.” A tear or two fell which was always the case when he thought of her. This time, they were the real deal. “It hurts every day.”

Angela hugged herself. “I know, babe’.” She said, and then whispered “What else do you remember about that night?”

“Not much. Coming home from the studio, parking in the driveway. I remember it was clear and warm.” And a full moon had made the concrete driveway gleam like silver. The sky had been so beautiful, the breeze off the ocean warm and soft against his skin. A perfect night.

“I think everything was quiet in the neighborhood.” She remarked. 

An odd sort of comment, he thought. She was fishing for ...something. “Yes. Ray next door was out for a jog.” He said, which was a true memory. The next one, though, was not. “The Andersons were watering their lawn for the fifth time that week. Their Lab’ was barking a lot. But he always did.”

Angela nodded as though, yes, she recalled the neighbor’s hose being on and the barking dog.

Jane cast his mind back to that moonless night. The Andersons had never owned a dog. Missus Anderson had been allergic. Angela or Debbie or Whoever wanted details of that night, and here she was accepting false details as true. Because she had not been there at all!

The only thing he could not figure out was why. “There was no moon.” He lied. “It was dark.” He wished he could recall more details, false or true, but the grisly discovery of his family’s bloody corpses has cast all other trivia from his thoughts until only the sight of the blood on the carpet, the heinous smiling face on the wall, and the smell of leaking bowel fluids remained. 

And then Jane remembered the recording that he still had not listened to. Debbie Daniels had shown up around that time. This nothing case they were working on, that had turned out to be hardly any case at all, and still he had not listened to the recording. Jane suddenly knew all he need to know as to why Red John had sent Debbie Daniels, AKA Angela Ruskin, to him when he did. A dead, closed, long ignored case had been sent down, innocently enough, to Agent Lisbon’s office. A nothing dead-end case no one in law enforcement cared about anymore.

Jane suddenly realised that he had to listen to that tape. But he also wanted to rout out the lies in this woman who had pretended to be his dead wife come up from the grave like a spectre. Who had pretended to be the woman who had once loved him without falsehood or shame. 

A woman he had buried a long time ago, one who no longer breathed his name or touched his body. A refined, upstanding treasure of a woman who had agreed to be his wife but now existed only as memories of a few short years of happiness together mixed with the intense pain of loss. 

And, on top of all of that, he recalled now, out of the blue, an odd occurrence. A tall man dressed in black, walking away from the shrubs that met up with the sidewalk in front of his house. The man had waved at him as he passed, a white smile peeking out from beneath the dark hood. 

“I remember a man in dark clothing.” Jane said. “He wished me good night.”

Debbie stared at him sharply, and Jane saw that the facade of the resurrected wife was instantly gone. Angela Ruskin had vanished before his eyes to be replaced by Debbie Daniels or by someone else. It no longer really mattered what her name was. What mattered was what she wanted from him. 

Debbie Daniels stared across the short space of dusty floor between them. Without another word, she pulled out a small hand-gun from where it had been tucked into the back of her jeans beneath her checkered blouse. 

She pointed it directly at his mid-section. Smiling sweetly - “Red John will be so pleased with me.”

CBI

To be continued. 


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse for Jane...

WICKED THINGS DONE RED Part 6  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.  
CBI

“You had the gun hidden here the whole time.” Jane swept his hand in a small circle. “Ready to use once Red John made the decision to...what?” He asked.

Debbie took a cell phone from her pocket. “John wants you to see him - face to face.” She smiled. She was a human mannequin made of plastic and filled to the eyeballs with the warped ideas of a multiple murderer. She believed in the empty love of Red John and she believed herself hollow but for his fulfillment. 

Jane swallowed, and answered quietly. “I would like that too.” But there was a problem. The team was in hiding just outside and listening in, ready to strike. Just to keep them talking - “Why now?” Jane kept his hands where Debbie could clearly see them and then pointed to the door. He mouthed silently “We are not alone.”

Debbie smiled back. She nodded knowingly. Jane understood. Of course Red John might anticipate this; that he had been going along with the charade all along. The team had not anticipated this move on Red John. Neither had he. 

If the team entered and took Debbie into custody before he learned what he needed to, he might never get such a chance again. It would be too late. He had spent enough years of his life hoping for a time when it wouldn’t be too late.

Seeing Red John face to face, the chance to really and finally know his evil face before killing him, or at least trying to kill him, because at this juncture it no longer mattered, was worth the sacrifice. Lisbon would be angry but she would forgive him. She would understand, even if he did not make it out alive, that he had wanted – that he had craved this like drugs - to face his family’s killer at last, more than breath or life. If he could kill Red John, even if he died doing it, well that was a small enough price. What was his one life next to the dozens Red John had taken?

Because too late felt like today, it was hours close, it was in the next few minutes. It was now or never. He had to do this. Lisbon would be terribly disappointed of course at his deceit; at his own charade within the charade, but she ought to know him by now - it was what he did best. 

As these thoughts passed through his mind, Debbie motioned to the carpet at Jane’s feet. He slowly kicked it aside, careful not to make any noise that the hidden microphone Cho had so carefully taped to his chest might pick up. 

Beneath the carpet was a latched trap door. Debbie, still keeping the gun aimed at Jane’s chest, bent down and unhooked it, opening it slowly so as not to cause any undue creaking of the worn wood. 

Jane said. “Angela’s dad never owned a cabin. He moved around too much...like one has to in that...life.” His tone on the final word indicated his personal distain for his childhood existence.

Again that smile that told him she knew he would eventually guess all things correctly. 

Jane continued. “Mister Ruskin was a miser. He horded every penny he earned ‘cause he wanted Angela to go to college.”

“Instead she ran away with you, had a baby and died.”Debbie added. “Red John understands, you see, what it is like to finally get almost everything you ever wanted - in your case a family and a real home. But you didn’t appreciate it, Patrick. You squandered them.”

“I loved them.”

“But no more than you loved showbiz’ or the money you were making. You would never have given any of it up if not for John.”

“So that’s what Red John does? He goes around killing people, killing children, tearing families apart so that they’ll learn to appreciate hearth and home? Seems a bit counterproductive, don’t you think?”

“But in your case, absolutely necessary.” Debbie opened a drawer and picked up two items. The first was a silencer that she screwed onto the end of her gun barrel, the other item she tossed to him. He caught it in one hand. It was a small flashlight. Using the muzzle of the gun she pointed to the ladder descending into the blackness. 

Jane stepped his right foot onto the first rung and disappeared into the dark.

“John knows what it is like to have the things you love ripped from you.” She explained as she followed him down. “You and he are not as dissimilar as you might believe. He regrets that he had to do to your family what he did, but it was necessary. It cured you.” Debbie smiled again. “There are a lot of blind people in this world.”

“No shit.”

At the next curve, Jane carefully tore the microphone from his chest and lay it down in the dirt. Debbie stepped over it and their two sets of silent feet left it behind.

The tunnel, very narrow and clearly dug out decades before, twisted and turned until it came out onto a small hillside obscured by years of tangled growth. “Keep your hands at your side, Patrick; we wouldn’t want to appear suspicious.”

Jane did as he was told. Ahead and to the right was a small gravel parking lot set back in the trees where several cars sat, their owners out hiking the trails or picnicking in the area.

“My car’s the blue one.” Debbie said. From her pocket she produced a set of keys and a remote for its alarm system. The car beeped once as she unlocked the doors. “You’re driving.” She instructed.

But not all of the nearby cars were empty. One man noticed them and swiftly exited his vehicle, a black SUV that may as well have had the word GOVERNMENT stamped all over it. “Excuse me - you there.” The fellow said, as he reached for his belt and the official looking weapon holstered there.

Debbie did not blink an eyelash but turned and fired twice, dropping the slower reacting man where he stood. Patrick ducked instinctively at the soft pop!-pop! from the weapons fire. Two red stains appeared in the man’s shirt over his heart. If he was not already dead, he would be in minutes.

“Sorry.” Debbie said as though apologising for the mess. “We really can’t afford to be stopped now.”

Jane got in behind the wheel and once Debbie was seated and both were belted in, she trained the gun on him and said. “Drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”

Jane inserted the key and turned it, the car’s engine roaring to life. The windows were an after-factory tint and darker than ordinary. No one would be able to see in. John wasn’t one for leaving things to chance. “I saw him that night.” Jane mused aloud but to himself, as though she wasn’t even there. “I saw him and I didn’t even know it.”

“You didn’t remember. John knew you wouldn’t.”

No, finding his little girl slaughtered like a spring lamb and his wife bloody from chest to pelvis tended to violently shove all other thoughts and images aside. The man on the sidewalk who had wished him a goodnight was just a man who had wished him a good night. One moment, he was an odd curiosity, the next he had held no significance what-so-ever, instantly forgotten.

Still, he had not seen the man’s face, dressed as he had been in the sunglasses, the dark hoodie and the hat down over his eyes. He should have realised there was something sinister in the fellow – who wore sunglasses when it was passed sunset? “Red John is going to let me see his face?”

Debbie smiled. “He says he wants to educate you, to give you a present.”

“I’m assuming that doesn’t mean a Wal-Mart gift-card?”

Debbie just stared at him owlishly. It was disconcerting. He also knew it was often a sign of mental dysfunction. “Just drive east.” She ordered.

They drove for almost an hour, taking this secondary highway and that side-road until they pulled up in front of a Victorian style two-story house nestled in a very old farm section of Sacramento County. It was in poor repair and in need of a fresh coat of paint. The wrap-around veranda was sagging but garnished with rattan furniture, fresh cut daisies in a glass vase. As they ascended the few tumble-down steps, Jane noticed that the dust had been recently swept aside, as though someone had expected visitors.

“This house belonged to your mother.” Jane commented, figuring it was as good a guess as any.

“My grandparents, actually. It was left to me.”

“Until Red John convinced you to sign it over to him or at least let him use it whenever he needed it, like today. What is your real name anyway?”

“Who I really am, is inconsequential Mister Jane. Come on. Red John is waiting.”

Debbie followed him inside with her gun resting against his lower spine. This was one of those times when Jane regretted not accepting Cho or Rigsby’s offers to show him some of their fancy Kung-fu-cop moves. 

“Ray is looking forward to speaking with you again.” She said.

Jane asked “Where is he?” The place was dark and silent but for their own shuffling footsteps.

“He’ll be down in a few moments.” She explained closing and dead-bolting the front door behind her.

Debbie prodded him in the back and they entered the rear sitting room, a large, unfurnished empty space with a thick area rug and foam underlay. 

To stifle noise maybe? Jane wondered. 

The windows here were boarded up and the only light was what natural sunshine managed to filter in from the adjacent kitchen window over the double sink.

Someone was walking around upstairs. 

Debbie stepped away from him, too far for him to surprise her with a grab for her weapon. She gestured to him with the gun to sit in the room’s only chair – a straight-backed old fashioned job, probably hand-made, which he estimated made it about a hundred years old. That also meant it was probably as strong and as solid as steel. 

Once he sat down, she tossed him hand-cuffs. “Don’t think about trying to Houdini your way out of them. Red John had the cuffs specially made. They cannot be tampered with.” She explained. “Hook it onto your right wrist, and then to the chair’s right arm railing.”

He did so. 

She tossed him a second pair. “Now hook this to the chair’s left arm railing.”

He obeyed her. Once he was secured she approached the chair, still keeping the gun properly aimed at his skull, and connected the steel restraints to his left hand. He was held fast. She then lay the gun aside and took a few minutes tying his ankles to the chair’s legs as tightly as she could with two lengths of cotton rope.

Once she was finished, Jane tested the restraints a bit. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Heavy, booted footsteps descended the staircase somewhere behind a wall and then their owner appeared in the doorway from behind him. Jane could only see him in a mirror on the wall opposite him. The mirror’s lines were square and functional and he realised it was out of place in the room, probably a mirror taken from a bathroom somewhere else in the house and hung there just for today. For Red John’s little theater show.

“Hello Patrick. So nice to see you again.” Jane recognised the nasal voice and the long black leather slicker the killer had worn during their first encounter. It was a garment an old-time cowboy would have worn in the driving rain. Jane also noticed the sharp-toed patent leather boots, shining liked glass.

And of course the mask - a thing of black cats, goblins and Halloween nightmares. “Debbie, my dear - are you ready for your rebirth?”

“Of course my love. I have been waiting for it all my life.”

Red John stood beside her, briefly but lovingly touching her face with one black-gloved hand. “You are truly a worthy woman.”

Debbie smiled at him as though Sonny Jesus had just given her his personal blessing, and then she walked across the room, taking hold of a wobbly oblong table and pulling it closer, until it was only some ten feet away from where Jane sat helplessly. She turned it so one of the narrow ends faced him.

Jane asked “Are you going to kill me now?” The question was for either Red John or for her; it didn’t matter at this point.

Debbie smiled at him sadly. “Don’t be silly.” She kicked off her low-heel pumps, shed her dress and bra and then, dressed in nothing but her underwear, hoisted her lithe body onto the table, laying down on it with her head at the opposite end, so her bare, delicate feet were closest to him. 

Jane’s breath caught in his throat as Red John approached the table. The killer explained “You see, Patrick,” He began as though telling him a truth that his captive audience of one had pathetically and so often misunderstood, “You and I are going to witness Debbie’s transformation.” He waved a hand in a king-like gesture over to where his next victim lay. “Today brave Debbie becomes famous and remembered and loved forever. And you and I will be her champions. We shall kill her together, Patrick. And then you and I will live forever in the annuls of history; we will be brothers again.” Red John turned dark eyes on him, “As we were supposed to be.”

As the horror of what was about to happen in the room raced through his mind, Jane’s thoughts also turned to the assaults Red John had perpetrated upon him during their second lengthy encounter. “Brothers? You starved, beat and raped me.”

“You needed bringing down, and a reminder of what you really are. We come from the same soil, Patrick, the same blood, the same beginnings...our futures will also be entwined forever now – it was inevitable, you must see that.”

“I see you’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you kill this ignorant woman. What’s on the recording?”

The surprise question had hit home and Red John paused just briefly. “I have no idea to what you are referring.” He said, recovering his perfect control and reaching into his pocket. Withdrawing his signature knife, a curved blade about four inches long, shiny and lethal looking, he raised it over the table like a religious icon. It had no doubt been ground to a razor’s edge. 

Jane struggled in his bonds. “John - don’t hurt her. She’s just a stupid woman bowled over by your attentions.” Jane then appealed to the woman lying on the table, patiently waiting for her very own murder at the hands of a madman. ‘Don’t do this. You’ll be remembered as only a corpse, one of countless women he has killed. This isn’t some road to immortality – it’s nothing but pointless death.”

Red John looked back at him. “Save your strength, Patrick, you will need it soon enough.”

Then he took his knife and poised it above the woman’s pelvis for a second or two, as a priest would raise his goblet or his incense burner for those in the pew to observe. Then he brought it down in one smooth motion, ripping into her with the strength of a gorilla, tearing her open in one great swath from hips to sternum. 

She screamed loud and long and then, once enough of her blood had left her body, lay still. 

She was alive. A quarter-moment passed. She was dead. The sun still sank in the baking west. The dust floated freely and unencumbered in a single shaft of light from the kitchen. Outside a bird twittered. The clock on the wall never turned its third hand back even one second to mark her passing. Such was a human being.

Red John wiped the blade on his leather sleeve and turned to where Jane was seated sucking in great droughts of musty air. The stink of fresh blood and bowel filled the room. He kept his eyes on the floor but, knowing he was about to die, strangely he felt calm.

Red John took a smear of the blood from his arm and wiped it across Jane’s throat. Then he pulled something else from his pocket and showed it to him. It was a syringe which held a few units of clear fluid. “You need to rest, Patrick, for a while. I’ll see you again soon enough, my friend.”

Jane snarled quietly, shaking from what he had just witnessed and – he could not help it – terrified because Red John was standing so close to him. “I am not your friend, you murdering freak.”

Red John sighed. “I do not understand some people’s resistance to education. You are a stubborn man, Patrick, just as you were as a child.”

He knew me, even back then. Cho had suspected it. They as a team had discussed it but the evidence trail had gone cold months ago. Jane fished for more, hazarding a guess. “I don’t understand why you went away. What happened?”

“Of course you do. You understand because you were always the smart one.” But Red John said no more about it. “Sleep now. Everything will be clearer in the morning.” The man who called himself by many names stuck the tip of the syringe into Jane’s neck just under his hairline, where its mark would not show, and as Jane’s eyes closed his last sensation was feeling warm and cozy.

CBI

“Oh my god...” Lisbon gasped as she entered the dark room. The house had no electricity hooked up as it had been unoccupied for over a year. They searched through the dark rooms with flashlights.

In the rear sitting room they found them. On a table lay the woman who had called herself Debbie and Angela. Whatever her real name had been was immaterial to her life, as now that life had been brought to a violent end. She was open from throat to pelvis, her skin peeled back and her internal organs visible. 

Van Pelt swallowed her revulsion and touched the woman’s left calf. “She’s still pretty warm. This didn’t happen very long ago.”

Rigsby swiftly ascended the stairs to check out the rest of the house and before long had called down to Lisbon, reporting the place as empty. Putting away their weapons, the team of four approached the other body in the room, Lisbon’s slender frame tucked in directly behind Cho’s wide shoulders.

An anonymous call had come into Lisbon’s cellular not more than an hour previous telling them where they could find Patrick Jane – the male caller saying he had left “a perfect gift” for them; a “message in human form” to the friends at the CBI. 

Of course the caller had to have been Red John. The veteran killer had not stayed on the phone for more than a few seconds so they were unable to trace the call anywhere more specific than somewhere inside Sacramento County.

The caller had spoken the frightening words in his accent-free, toneless diction. It had not been the voice or even the words that had made Lisbon frightened. In her tenure as first a San Francisco cop and then as an investigator with the CBI she had dealt with maniacs almost as bad as Red John before. The fear was her imagination about the things Red John had most likely done to Jane. The killer’s voice, high-pitched and as smooth as butter, had then rattled off an address into her ear before hanging up.

Once she saw the silhouetted form of Jane slumped over in the middle of an empty room, as still and silent as the chair he was sitting on, Lisbon knew he was dead. “No.” She said. It was a plea said to no one. A denial of what her eyes saw. It was the only sign to the others that she felt like she herself was dying of sorrow on the spot, the pain shooting out of her in the simple form of sound. 

As invisible but terrible waves of heart-ache filled her chest, Lisbon trained her beam on the chair that held up Jane’s body. She could not force her feet any closer, feeling temporarily ill-equipped to explain why. 

Cho, also in shock but quicker to recover and make his feet move, swept ahead, bending down next to where Jane sat slumped over, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his unfettered feet resting on the floor and still shod in his scruffy tan-leather shoes.

A significant amount of drying blood was smeared across his throat and had dripped down his torso, staining his shirt and vest. Because he was slumped over, Cho was unable to determine whether or not Jane’s throat had been cut deeply enough to cause his death. He thought however that it probably had, as there were no other noticeable injuries. 

Cho touched the side of Jane’s head gently, almost reverentially. His colleague whom he had once loved and still respected was dead. There was nothing to gain by disturbing him too much now. Best to wait for the coroner and the CSI’s so the evidence could be properly gathered. 

Nothing in the house would be left unturned so justice could be brought to bear. Every speck of dust or debris would be examined. Every thread, every smear that could be a finger-print, every drop of anything dripped or splashed – all of it would be bagged and labelled and painstakingly gone over by the best experts in the field. So they could find and punish the bastard who had taken their friend from them. So Jane’s death would not be for nothing. So in Jane’s good name, a killer would be stopped once and for all. Jane deserved that.

Cho listened as Lisbon took shallow breaths beside him. This was Jane, a man she cared deeply about, so naturally she was finding it hard to freely breathe. Cho could well sympathise. He had loved him, too. They had all cared about him to one degree or another. Never-mind Jane’s antagonism of suspects, and his tendency to drive them all crazy with his seemingly out-to-lunch investigative methods, over the years they had all grown very fond of him. He was like the mixed up kid brother whom everyone instinctively wanted to either embrace or protect. Now there was no longer any need.

No need other than to treat his body with gentleness and respect. Cho swallowed his grief and ran two fingers across Jane’s scalp to see if there were any injuries not obvious in the near dark of the dusty room. 

“I don’t think he was hit on the head.” Cho remarked quietly, which he knew could possibly mean that Jane had met his end while still conscious. That’s how Red John liked to do his kills. He liked to see their terror and fear. Cho decided not to mention that particular fragment of his thought processes to Lisbon.

Lisbon whispered in a voice choked of all detachment. Her heart hurt too much to push aside her personal feelings. Not this time. Not with this victim. With Jane, with this man, it was impossible. As always. “Hey...” She said, her throat almost closing up. It was difficult to speak. “Cho...l-look at his hand.”

Cho trained his flashlight on Jane’s right hand. Clutched in his fingers was a bloody knife. The very style they knew Red John had been using for years. It and Jane’s fingers were smeared in tacky blood. 

“There’s no way Jane killed that woman.” Cho said softly although he knew they were all already thinking as much. Of course Jane did not murder Debbie Daniels. 

Lisbon answered. “Of course not. Red John’s set it up to look that way.”

Cho nodded and taking a clean tissue from his jacket pocket to keep his own DNA off Jane’s hand, he pinched one of Jane’s fingers between his own tissue protected thumb and index finger, lifting their friend’s hand higher so they all could see the blade more clearly.

“Shit!” Suddenly Cho’s body jerked and he dropped the hand as though it was too hot to hold. A soft gurgle or grunt then emanated from deep in Jane’s throat. Looking up at Lisbon Cho gasped “Jesus - he’s alive! Call an ambulance!”

CBI

Part 7 soon. 


	7. Part 7

Wicked Things Done Red Part 7  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.   
CBI

 

Doctor Manley, his white shock of hair swept back from his head atop his six-two frame, peered through tiny reading glasses balanced on his nose. 

The CBI brunette agent standing nearly a full foot shorter gave him her full attention, her intense green eyes trained on his every word. Apparently the patient brought in during the middle of his midnight lunch-break was one of hers.

“The tox’ screen was interesting to say the least.” He said to her with a touch of irony. “His system was full of propofol - a general anesthetic used in abdominal surgery. We found a second substance in his tissues.” The doctor paraphrased from the report in his hands. “Levels of phencyclidine – that’s PCP – in a significant enough concentration to suggest prolonged use.”

He elaborated further “PCP accumulates in the system over time and has a body life of about eight days. The toxicity in his tissues tells me he was ingesting it in low doses every day for at least a week or more. As you may already know, PCP can affect the central nervous system causing anxiety, sleeplessness, and dissociative thinking and behavior. The bruising on his wrists and ankles suggest he was restrained for several hours but despite being covered in blood he sustained no injuries.”

Lisbon closed her eyes for a second, relieved. No injuries, at least no physical ones. She could only imagine what it had been like to witness the Daniels woman’s evisceration. One new mental wound to add to his growing collection. And the street drug explained his restlessness, his more-so-than-usual restlessness, the sleeplessness, also more than usual, the pacing, his agitation, the body ticks she had noticed, a perfectly normal human thing but one Jane always took great pains to hide. He had been drugged, his body suffering, his mind affected, his thinking skewed but not enough to convince him that his wife had come back to him from the dead. Jane may have not been entirely himself of late but he was never a fool. 

And as for the street drug, either Jane himself had been taking it – unlikely – or, more likely, someone had been administering it to him without his knowledge. She asked “What about his heart?” Cho had mentioned to her Debbie Daniels’ odd comment to Jane in the interview room, and Jane’s subsequent denial that anything was wrong. It was typical of him.

Manley blinked. “Other than monitoring his pulse we haven’t looked at it. Do you suspect a problem?”

Lisbon shrugged, and shook her head. “Just a suspicion, it’s probably nothing.”

But Doctor Manley took his profession, and his patients’ health, very seriously. “Agent, if you suspect something...you’re his medical proxy, we can check him out of you want. A heart condition should not be ignored.”

“I don’t know if there is anything wrong but...” but if there was something seriously wrong with Jane, maybe something he had been hiding, they needed to know. “Uh, let me ask you - what would cause a person’s face to flush when they haven’t been doing anything? No exercise, no walking..?”

“Overheating, stress, there are a number of things. Do you want us to check his heart? If it is his heart, there is one condition that comes immediately to my mind.”

“What’s that?”

“Stress-induced tachycardia. It’s not dangerous as long as it’s taken care of – the medication is simply an epinephrine inhibitor. It’s actually an adrenaline disorder. Stress causes adrenaline production that causes the heart to race – perfectly normal - happens to everybody but in some people the heart doesn’t slow down for hours even after the stimulus is removed. In some cases the heart will race for up to twelve hours or until the next time the sufferer goes to sleep. Left untreated it can, over time, cause hardening of the arteries in the kidney, liver and damage to the valves of the heart.”

“I see.”

“There’s a simple test for it. We can run it if you wish - once he’s done detoxifying.”

 

“Yes, please do that.”

-  
-

The team was biding their time in the nearby waiting area, sipping coffees or sugar drinks. It had been a long night. 

Lisbon took a seat beside Cho. She found him restful, his ability to compartmentalize and remain calm in the face of stress a very settling attribute. “Jane did not kill that woman.” She said to him quietly. It was fact. It was the truth. Jane was not going down for a lie. They had already discussed this she knew, but for some reason she needed to have him convince her of it once more.

“Jane would rather have died by Red John’s hand than kill someone for him.” Lisbon added. Jane fought for victims, even if in Debbie Daniels case she had been a brainwashed disciple of the killer, she had still been an innocent, and in the end she had suffered the ultimate pain - dying under her victimhood. Jane understood that. 

Cho crossed his mental arms, ready to do battle with anyone who disputed his boss’s words, or his own. They would all fight for Jane if they had to, to the last man or woman. “We’ll take care of him.” He reassured her.

Lisbon lowered her voice to a whisper. “We’ve broken the Law, Cho.” That part of seeking justice always bothered her. It hadn’t stopped her from fabricating lies once or twice over her career, but it still weighed heavily on her conscience. “Are you all sure you’re okay with this? It’s very possible this could come back on us some day.”

Cho looked at her and then at the faces of Rigsby and Van Pelt. “I’m sure.” 

She looked at her other agents. “Anyone who doesn’t want in on this is free to leave right now. I’ll approve any transfer you request - what-ever you need, just say the word. You’ll have plausible deniability. You and your careers will be safe.”

No one moved. Grace said. “Come on, boss. We’ve already decided. It’s too late to back out now.”

Rigsby nodded. “She’s right. We’re all in on this one.” As big a pain in the ass as Jane could make himself, he was part of the team. And the team was family.

Lisbon. “Okay. I’m staying here until Jane wakes up. Why don’t the rest of you go home, get some rest. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

 

Fourteen hours previously...

Their flashlights provided the only light. Dust filled the air but oddly the floor had been swept clean. Shadows played with their senses. Any moment Lisbon imagined a cloaked killer leaping out at them from a dark corner, his lips stained with the blood of his victims, the Daniels woman and Jane’s. 

However nothing stirred but her team and the shallow but regular respirations of Jane’s drugged sleep. Lisbon pulled a small red kerchief from her jeans pocket. Cho had seen her use it around the office now and then to wipe at her nose whenever she was working all week with a cold. It was red with white polka-dots. She’d had it since she was fourteen. A memento from her father. 

Seeing Jane seated in a chair with the dead woman across the room from him, blood on his throat and chest and to all appearances appearing to be the one who had wielded the knife, Lisbon made the decision in an instant of time and without hesitation. “Jane did not kill that woman.” Lisbon said quietly to her companions in the near dark, the words meaning many things. She was shocked at the way her words echoed back from the old fashioned plaster walls and wood floor. Her voice was the only sound in the room. Her words and Jane’s hushed breathing. 

At Cho’s anxious words, Rigsby was already dialing for the ambulance but she didn’t care. There was still time. “Rigsby – wait.” She said quickly. “Hang up.”

Rigsby looked over at her, and then at Cho, alarmed at their boss’s suggestion. 

“But boss...” Grace said. Jane was unconscious. He was covered in blood. “I mean he seems fine but Jane...could be hurt.”

Lisbon nodded to Cho. “Keep a close eye on him. Make sure he keeps breathing. Make sure his heart rate is steady.” She instructed. To Grace - “I know, but he’ll be fine for a few minutes and we have to do this or we’ll lose him for good. If Darcy found out about what we’ve seen here...” Lisbon reminded them all trying to sound re-assuring even though she herself felt not at all assured. “We can’t let them find Jane with the knife in his hand.” She moved to wrap her father’s cotton kerchief thing around the knife loosely gripped in Jane’s limp fingers.

No one but Grace moved. She leaped forward. “Boss...” Grace’s conscience was particularly her own. “Think about this. This is serious business. A woman is dead. What if-” Grace began, her big expressive eyes flicking to each member of the trusted team, the people she had worked with so long that they felt like her own family. She relied on these people to do the right thing, but was this a right thing? That she simply wasn’t yet sure of. 

“Look, I know it’s a hard question to ask but...what if it was Jane who did this? What if...I mean, there’s no one else here. What if...” Grace swallowed nervously, knowing Lisbon would not appreciate the thing she was implying. Never-the-less Lisbon would let her speak. Even if in the end she didn’t agree, she always listened. “What if there never was? What if Red John was never here?” 

Lisbon hesitated, the bloody knife in her hand, wrapped in the treasured kerchief. “Jane did not kill that woman.”

“But he’s drugged. Maybe...maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.” Grace said.

“Yes.’’ Lisbon looked over at her consultant, her soul aching. He was in drugged oblivion and separate from their discussion. This decision would be theirs to make, not his. For once Jane was not going to be master of his fate. Not this time. 

Lisbon looked to her youngest member of the team and made herself think about Grace’s warning words, remembering the fact of Timothy Carter. Could Jane kill? Yes, he had killed. An evil man was dead because of three gun shots by Jane’s own hand. Yes, Jane had killed another human being, but Carter had been evil. He had not been an innocent, or even a misled, soul. 

Debbie Daniels had been crazy but not necessarily evil. Even under duress or threats to his life, was Jane capable of deliberately murdering a deluded and manipulated but essentially innocent woman? Lisbon could not believe it of him. 

She glanced around the mostly vacant room. Because there was no dust on the floor there were no visible shoe-prints to indicate who or how many others had been present. To Lisbon it didn’t matter. Jane was no murderer. He was a good man struggling with a terrible personal burden, and who at times had made the poorer choices, taking the unwise course, but a cold-blooded killer? It simply seemed impossible. 

Lisbon said - “You know he isn’t responsible for this. Jane did not murder Debbie Daniels.” Lisbon reiterated for Van Pelt and for the others as well. “But, Grace, you’re free to go if you want to. You don’t have to witness this.”

Van Pelt pinched her lips together, and then licked them. This road she was about to step onto was for her a new one. It was unknown and definitely illegal and her footsteps upon it untried. It was scary, what her boss was doing, but - “No, I’ll stay. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it together, as a team.”

Lisbon wrapped up the blood-streaked knife and tucked it into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m going to go bury this somewhere.” She announced to them. “Don’t ask me where and you won’t have to lie.” 

When there were no other words of protest from any of them, from her other pocket Lisbon pulled out a wad of wrinkled tissue and thrust it in Cho’s direction. “Wipe the blood off his hand.” 

CBI

When Jane opened his eyes, Lisbon made sure hers was the first face he saw. She leaned over him, probably too closely for a boss to her employee but she didn’t care. Not anymore. When you believe someone you love could have died but didn’t, proper decorum can go fuck itself. 

“Jane.” She said her voice gentle. Despite his deceit and his stupid risk to himself, there would be no angry words from her. Not this time. 

Because he was alive. “How are you feeling?”

“Groggy.” He said, his voice very weak, his eyes still closing and opening sluggishly, as though his few square feet of the world were stuck in slow motion. “Nauseous.”

Lisbon brought a plastic cup of water to his mouth, sticking the thin straw in between his lips. “Here. You must be dry.”

He sipped a bit and then let the straw go. “Thanks.” He frowned. “I know I’m in the hospital, but I’m not sure...how I got here. Or why.” He looked around. It was a uniform hospital room. Square lines decorated in beige and white, the bed too hard, the pillows made of the horrible flat spongy material with which all care facilities plagued their patients.

Treading carefully - “What do you remember?” Lisbon asked.

His eyes were still dull from the drugs Red John, or others, had administered. He sighed softly. “I remember driving her car, and...the house...I think – it’s...it was old...condemned maybe, I’m not sure.”

“Anything else?”

He frowned, trying to sift through images that now felt far away and dream-like. He shook his head, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Fear mostly. I thought for sure she was going to kill me.” A thought struck him. “Did Red John - ?”

 

“He killed her.” Lisbon said quickly. “We were too late.” She looked away for a second. Then - “You don’t remember seeing him?”

He shook his head, sighing once more. 

Lisbon was glad that Jane recalled no part of what had happened next, and relaxed a little with the knowledge. Although the reality of Jane’s lack of memory presented other potential problems, but those they would deal with as, or if, they surfaced. For now, Jane needed only to rest. 

The bags under his eyes appeared as though carved with the blunt end of a spoon, and he seemed small and vulnerable in the hospital gown. He was sickly pale and seemed smaller somehow beneath the covers. In fact he looked exhausted almost beyond recovery. Lisbon thought The world has murdered him once more, and once more he has survived it. 

The heart monitor talked steadily, reminding her that though Jane’s heart was still beating, he could easily have died last night. She could be planning his funeral right now instead of talking with him as she had most every day for the last four and a half years. “Don’t worry about it right now. You should sleep. I’ll leave you alone.”

She stood to leave but he reached out and took her arm. His grip was weak, barely there. Lisbon wrapped her hand around his, waiting.

“Would you mind..?” He began then stopped. Lisbon tried to place the expression on his face and then she realised what it was, a rare emotion for Jane - embarrassment. 

“Anything you need.” She reassured him. Anything at all.

“Would you mind staying until I fall asleep?”

Red John nightmares. Waking and sleeping. She had the sudden urge to hug him, one of those impulsive bear hugs that at unexpected moments he had often delivered her way. Sweet elusive feely things that in the beginning she had pretended to merely endure but over the years had secretly grown used to. After a time she had even come to look forward to them and when expected but failing to appear, she even missed them. They were a sign of affection from him that she had quietly grown to admire – one she envied; that capacity he possessed for openly showing his feelings. A quality in him that she loved. 

However she was still only his boss. She squeezed his fingers gently. It was a weaklings gesture, she knew, unashamedly unaffected and insufficient but it would have to do for now. Anything else filled her with uncertainty. “No problem.” 

Jane stared at her, his expression shifting. Now he looked sad, almost wistful. “She really looked like her, you know.”

Lisbon nodded though she herself could not say. Other than the crime scene photos from eight years before, she’d only seen a single photo of the late Angela Ruskin, and it had been a ten year old picture of a simply pretty brunette with a formal smile stiffly posed for the camera. She knew losing his wife and his young daughter had hurt him more deeply than anything since, the kind of hurt that after many years fades perhaps but does not entirely go away. They had been part of him and he a part of them. Lisbon wondered if she would ever experience that level of intimacy. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He whispered wearily. “It’s for the best.” Suddenly Jane sat up and announced “When I’m out of here, I need to listen to the recording.” 

Lisbon shook her head. “Hey – lie down.”

He obeyed her, much to her surprise. “There’s no rush, Jane, it’s a dead investigation anyway. I would rather you-”

“No.” He said. “It’s important.”

“Why?”

He frowned again. “I’m not sure.” He shook his head, unable to process his feelings on the matter. “I only know it is.”

“Okay. But get some rest. I’ll be right outside.”

CBI

“Agent Lisbon?”

It was Susan Darcy approaching her as she sipped some machine coffee of dubious strength out of a paper cup. Lisbon did not bother to smile or to pretend she was anything but dismayed to see the woman at the hospital.

“I read the initial report you emailed in a few hours ago.” Darcy announced.

“Oh?” Lisbon did not care one way or the other. She had lost her last modicum of patience for the interfering FBI huntress.

Darcy took a seat beside Lisbon, crossing her long legs. “Yes, and I have a few questions like why I was not informed of your operation.”

“There was no time to file the paperwork. We had an opportunity to take Red John down and we took it. Bertram approved. You would have been informed eventually.”

“Red John is mine.”

She almost sounded like Jane. “Don’t you mean proving that Jane is some sort of psychotic Red John disciple is yours?”

“In light of what’s happened, I am revisiting that theory.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“But I have by no means abandoned it and I’ll tell you why. You reported that you located Jane at 11:23 PM.”

“Sounds right.”

“But Emergency Response didn’t get the call until 11:32 PM. That’s a gap of eight minutes.”

Lisbon shrugged. “We had to clear the house to ensure there was no one else present. It was a safety call.”

“Rigsby and Van Pelt cleared the house and you and Agent Cho attended to Jane.”

“Yes.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes, her suspicions only growing. “I’ve been with the FBI for seven years, Agent Lisbon. A house that size, only two stories and a dirt basement? It would take maybe two minutes to clear it – tops, yet your team didn’t make the call for another six minutes. What went on during those six minutes?”

“We took a minute to make certain Jane was okay - at first we thought he was dead.”

“A minute? Did you check his pulse?”

“Not right away – no.”

“So you arrived at 11:23, cleared the house, that’s 11:25, then every member of your team, a rather seasoned group of agents, for another full minute all made the rookie mistake of failing to check for a pulse to ensure whether one of your team members was alive or dead?”

“That’s right. The scene was horrible. It would put anyone off his game.”

“Remarkably it seemed to put all of you off your game. There’s still five minutes unaccounted for, Agent Lisbon. What happened during those missing five minutes? Did you interrogate Jane – ask him any questions?”

“I would hardly interrogate one of my team while he was in that state because, as you already know from my report, he was unconscious. My first concern was his well-being.”

“And yet you waited another five minutes before calling for help. I find that very interesting Agent Lisbon, and highly suspect.”

“Well, as long as it’s interesting.” Lisbon said with no little amount of sarcasm.

Darcy was not flustered. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing here, Agent Lisbon, I think you’re protecting Jane. I think something happened during that five minutes, something he did or you did, and you decided to hide it –you and your whole team. That’s Obstruction.”

“Make of it what you like. We were in shock, and Jane was alive – thank god. We lost track of time...”

“Bullshit.” Darcy said, not mincing her words. “You’re hiding something and I intend to find out what it is. This is not over.”

Lisbon was sick of the woman and her career climbing. “Have you ever been tied to a chair, Agent Darcy? Had your life threatened? Been tortured?” Lisbon asked. The woman seemed to have no capacity for sympathy. “Well, Jane has. I have. Most people would have been broken by now from the things he’s gone through, but he’s still here, still fighting on the right side. You would do well to cut him some slack. Public opinion matters.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if you continue with this smear campaign against Jane, I’ll make certain that all the right people know of how little regard you have held and still hold for a fellow law enforcement agent. An agent who has done his best to assist you in past investigations, an agent who tried to protect you even, although I imagine he regrets that now. Count on it - you won’t come out shining like a new dime.”

“That sounds like a threat. And Patrick Jane by the way is not an agent. You seem to forget that.”

“It is a threat and whether he is an agent or a consultant, he solves crimes and he puts the bad guys away. You seem to forget that. Both Wainwright and Bertram highly value him, so in the long run your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t dismiss me, Lisbon. I’m a pretty determined person.”

Lisbon gave her a solid series of nods. “Yeah? Well me too.”

 

CBI

Jane listened, his face impassive, until it reached near the end and the last voice was heard. 

Lisbon listened to the heart-rending voices of the children screaming for their mommies and daddies seconds before the killer silenced them. Were they alive or dead? So far they did not know for sure which.

So quietly they could barely hear him speak, Jane asked Van pelt “Play it again please.”

Grace restarted the recording and Jane sat very still, his head bent over the bull-pen table, his right ear inches from the speaker. Suddenly his features crumpled and, to their collective astonishment, he began to weep perfectly silent tears. 

When the recording finished, Jane took a few seconds to compose himself, took a single deep breath and said to the team gathered around the table in the bullpen. “All these kids are dead. They’ll have graves and markers and flowers in vases next to them.”

For a few seconds no one spoke. Lisbon looked at him, stunned. “How do you know this?” She asked.

Jane sucked in another shuddering sigh. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Because the last voice on it is my daughter’s.” He said.

Grace covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh my god...Jane...”

Wishing she had never accepted the damn assignment to begin with Lisbon said “Jane, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that...”

Jane stared at the table top. It was the safest place to rest his eyes and heart. It asked nothing back at all. It was easiest to just talk about it. He wept enough. “That’s why Ted Daniels didn’t recognise the voice of his adopted daughter - she’s not dead, ergo she’s not on the tape. Or if she is dead, her body is still out there. This tape belonged to Red John.” Jane recited his theory for them in a steady voice free of inflection. It was the fastest way to get it over-with without his emotions crippling his thinking.

“I suspect they are recordings from Red John’s earlier...“career”.” He used the word with thorough contempt. “He was abducting and killing children, and then dumping their bodies so they could be found. The SFPD saw no reason to suspect that the voices on the recording were children already dead, their bodies already located and buried by their families and the recording was only sent to them years later. Because of that it’s unlikely any of the investigators at the time would have made the connection, but because Char....my daughter in on the tape that means it had to have been made by Red John. I believe the local PD looked into it as best they could with the resources they had at the time and then filed it away as unsolved.”

Cho asked. “So why would Red John be concerned about it now? Why would he see the need to send in Debbie Daniels? Why the big ruse?”

“Well Red John learned that the case was re-opened and sent here. He has his spies everywhere, why not in SFPD? He found out that the recording was coming here and he wanted to prevent me from listening to it. He knew my daughter’s voice is on it.” 

And her screams for her daddy to come save her, Lisbon thought. “But that still doesn’t make sense. Red John wants you to suffer. Wouldn’t he want you to hear it?”

Jane shook his head. “That would be true had he not realised something later.” Jane nodded to Grace. “Play it again.”

Lisbon laid a hand on his arm. “Jane...”

“There’s something in the background.” He said to her sharply, and then more calmly “I’m not trying to torture myself.” 

But as the recording began once more and the kids voices emerged raw and in terror, Jane was sweating and hunched over the table as though he were in pain. Perhaps he was.

Grace played the recording again and even once more and they all listened carefully, Jane with his head tilted toward the computer’s speaker, one ear trying to gather up the faint background noise.

“I hear a beeping of some kind.” Cho offered.

Jane nodded. “Me too. Grace, can you have the tech’ people clean that up? Reduce the foreground voice and enhance the background or whatever it is they do?”

Grace slipped the disk from her lap top. “As fast as I can.” She said and disappeared from the bullpen.

CBI 

Lisbon dragged a depressed Jane hunkered down in his sagging couch, very much protesting, out into the nearby park to eat the lunch she had sent out for them: Hoagie sandwiches and coffee.

Jane sniffed dubiously at the coffee. “I wanted tea.”

“They didn’t have tea. One coffee won’t kill you. Be glad I’m buying.”

Jane sniffed at the sandwich. “Do you have any idea how much fat and calories are in these?”

Lisbon took a large bite, savoring the multiple deli-meat and cheese flavours. “God, tons I hope. I’m starving.” If the damn unhealthy lunch got his mind off his daughter’s screams for a few hours, it was worth the extra pounds on her hips.

Jane nibbled his and frowned. With no appetite to speak of he wrapped it back up in the wax paper and set it aside. At Lisbon’s insulted expression “I promise I’ll eat it for dinner.” He lifted the paper cup and took a single sip of the dark fluid. Making a face he set it aside as well. “Coffee makes me nauseous.” He said defensively to her annoyed roll of the eyes.

“Oh.” Lisbon had never known that. The man could be so closed mouthed at the best of times and so open-mouthed at the worst. “I didn’t realise.”

He shrugged. Grace had the recording with the tech-heads and any results were still hours away. Jane suddenly stood up and removed his jacket. “It’s a nice day.” He announced. “I think I’ll take a walk.”

“Hey.” She said through a mouth full of food. “I’ll go with you.” Gobbling up the remnants of her lunch, she swallowed and caught up to him, carrying her coffee in her right hand and, to his dismay, his sandwich with the one bite missing in her left. “Where are we going?”

He said “Nowhere.” He pointed to a street lined with old growth trees. “Over there looks nice.”

Lisbon was glad for the distraction. She knew Jane was hiding it but having heard his own daughter’s voice on the recording screaming for her daddy had shaken him to his core. Plus he was probably still in pain and hiding that. He had two day growth of beard, and grey bags beneath his eyes the size of hammocks. He looked terrible. “How long has it been since the shooting?”

“About ten weeks.”

“And you’re still in pain?”

Jane looked at her askance. “What makes you say that?”

“Cho told me.”

“He snitched did he?”

“Only because he cares. It was for your own good.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Lisbon bit her lip. “We’ll get you new pills.”

That aroused his suspicions immediately and he stopped his casual momentum and turned to stare at her. “Why?”

As personal news to live with it was no worse than watching a woman die or hearing your own daughter’s dying screams. “The doctors found PCP in your pain med’s. Someone laced them with it. You were being drugged you without your knowledge. We figure maybe for the last couple of weeks.”

“Red John’s got another disciple in the CBI already.” He said.

It was a sound theory. Lisbon nodded. “Probably.” Jane seemed to take the news in stride but although physically he appeared almost fully recovered, she had her doubts about his emotional and mental state. 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that recording.” She said, apologising just because she thought that after all these years someone should and there was no one else to do it but her.

“I’m not sorry – exactly - if it’ll help me find and kill Red John.”

“What do you think the sound is?”

He shrugged and began walking again. “A house alarm, a car backing up maybe - I don’t know.”

She had to ask. “What do you remember about that night?”

Jane knew of what night she spoke and walked quietly for a moment, not saying anything. Then - “Not much, fuzzy images...except for finding them.” He stopped again under a huge coniferous tree. Squirrels chattered in the branches above. Cars passed by on the street next to them. The world rolled merrily onward. No one passing by on such a pleasant afternoon would suspect the man and woman talking together on the sidewalk spoke of murder and mayhem.

“She was smart, you know, m-my daughter - Charlotte.” He said, suddenly blurting it out as though it had been hanging there on his lips for years and he could no longer hold onto it. 

His thoughts no doubt were dwelling on his dead daughter ever since hearing her voice crying out to him from the old recording. Lisbon listened intently to his words. He seemed to need to say them. 

“She won math competitions all the time, and awards in science. Once she ruined most of the metal bowls in the house with her chemical mixes.” He smiled at the memory. “Angie was not pleased.” 

The simple life of a family: dad, mom and beloved only child. Jane had once been a father, had once loved a daughter – had adored her, treasured and cherished her. Had seen her growing up, had maybe even watched her being born. And then had found her cold and dead in a pool of her own blood. 

Lisbon subconsciously shook her head to sort out the pictures in her mind. Those two images were so difficult to reconcile. Not only the images of a living, vibrant girl with a smile and a dead one with her throat slashed and gaping open, but the images of then Jane, a responsible daddy once-upon-a-time happy and the now Jane, a deeply scarred loner out for bloody revenge.

This was the appropriate moment. Lisbon reached out and wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug, trying it on for size. “I know you miss them.”

Jane hugged back. When he released her, he didn’t release her all the way. Instead he looked down at her, his expression altered, uncertain about anything and unsure of himself, as though he were standing on the edge of a decision. As though they had approached a corner and he had no idea of the best way he ought to go.

“Jane?”

Then he decided. Without warning he pulled her back in and covered her lips with his own, kissing her leisurely, softly. Whether it was a kiss of gratitude or affection or something more, she cursed herself that she could not tell. But it felt nice. It lasted only a short moment, and she was disappointed when it ended. 

He stepped back a bit, letting his arms fall to his sides, but still staring at her with that eyes-upon-the-precipice look. 

She looked back, wishing she knew the answer to the question in his eyes. Wishing she even knew what the question was exactly. “Um...uh...Jane...w-what was that for?”

But Jane didn’t answer. He just took her hand and held it in his own, continuing his lunch-hour journey, taking her along with him. 

Lisbon walked beside him, content to leave the questions for later. Besides, it was a fine day for a walk.

CBI

Part 8 soon. 


	8. Chapter 8 (Final)

Wicked Things Done Red Part 8 (FINAL)  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic. Red John. Angst. Some violence. Hurt-comfort. Jane-pain. Maybe some smut!  
Characters: Jane/Other; Jane/pre-Lisbon, Lisbon/Mashburn  
Summary: Someone one from Jane’s past twists his world (and Lisbon’s) inside-out and upside down.  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.   
CBI

Lisbon spotted the ruckus first and jogged to reach the altercation.

Rigsby stood toe-to-toe with an angry thick-set fellow with a shaved head. The man had Rigsby’s blue four-by-four hooked onto his tow truck and they were arguing. “I’m moving it right now.” Rigsby said who was thinner than the other man but still out-stood him in height by several inches and was using it to his full advantage, getting his face very much in the other man’s. 

The fellow was not impressed and tapped his work-order. “Actually I’m towing it right now.”

“What’s going on here?” Lisbon asked the heavier man in the blue over-alls. Under them he wore jeans but no shirt. His arms were blue with multiple tattoos. The mid-day heat was growing more stifling by the minute.

“Who are you?” Tattoo man demanded.

Lisbon flashed her badge. “Agent Lisbon of the CBI, I and this other agent work in the CBI building you’re standing in front of.”

Her badge and commanding tone deflated the guy’s chest a little but he still didn’t see the need to be respectful to a cop, not even a pretty female one. He nodded to his clip-board and the work-order upon it and with a lift of his chin to the car belonging to Rigsby. “This guy’s car is parked illegally and I have an order to tow it.”

Lisbon looked at the Handicapped parking sign, then at Rigsby who sheepishly kept his eyes trained on the ground, and then peeking over at his boss. “I was only planning on being gone for a minute.” 

“Rigsby...” Lisbon admonished. “The handicap space? You’re a cop.”

The fellow moved to get in his truck and haul away the CBI agent’s offending vehicle. “Just a second.” Lisbon said. “Look, let me make a call and we’ll straighten this out, the CBI will make sure you get paid for your time, but I have to ask you to lower the car and leave it here.”

“I’ll get paid?” He asked, waiting with one foot in the truck and the other still on the pavement. “You promise? ‘Cause the time comes outta’ my pay if I don’t make good on the order.”

Lisbon nodded reassuringly. “I promise you’ll get paid, even if Agent Rigsby” – Lisbon threw her employee a stern look to ward off any attempt on his part to argue the point, “has to pay it.”

The fellow nodded, abandoned his clip-board on the seat of his truck and worked the controls. Jane stood back smiling widely like he did when he was enjoying some impromptu entertainment such as Rigsby getting into trouble from an irritated Lisbon. Such events brightened his day. 

Lisbon rolled her eyes at Rigsby. He was like a kid for god’s sake.

While Jane smiled to himself, enjoying the whole amusing scene, a steady beeping erupted as Rigsby’s blue sedan was lowered back to the earth.

Beside her Jane sucked in a breath and Lisbon looked at him sharply. “What?”

Jane seemed transfixed on the sound. “That’s it, Lisbon, that’s it – that’s the noise on the recording. A tow truck. It’s a tow truck.”

CBI

Lisbon was barking out the orders as she entered the bullpen. “Van Pelt, we need the records of all the towing companies who serviced the streets of the Malibu beach fronts from May 17th eight years ago. We need the individual unit numbers, the workers, the work orders – especially those who covered the afternoon and evening shifts in that area.” 

Lisbon said to Cho – “I want you and Rigsby to check out Jane’s old house – I know there’re new owners but maybe they’ll let us look for the cameras or whatever that had to have been there. There’s no way Red John could know what he knows if he hadn’t been spying on Jane for at least weeks before the murders. If the owners say no, call me and I’ll see if I can swing a Warrant. There may be voice recording devises too.”

Cho crossed his arms. “Will do, boss, but you know Red John has had ample time to remove anything incriminating from the house a long time ago.”

Lisbon nodded. “I know, but maybe we’ll get lucky plus I want to be able to say we tried.”

Van Pelt began working her keyboard. “What’s going on boss?”

“A Red John lead; a good one this time - maybe.” She lowered her voice. “Bring the results to me first, okay?” Lisbon glanced back at Jane who had taken his habitual seat on the couch. He appeared more haggard than ever. “I don’t want Jane going all Lone Ranger on this one.”

All three members of her team nodded and set to work. Cho grabbed his coat and said to Rigsby. “Come on. We’ve got a four hour drive before night-fall.” 

Rigsby followed. “We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.” 

Lisbon watched them go and then turned to watch Jane for a moment. He had reclined with his feet up and his eyes were closed in preparation for one of his half dozen daily cat-naps.

Lisbon knew his routine by now and slipped into the kitchen to put the kettle on to boil. She wouldn’t make him tea since he had his own quirky method of making it “perfect”, but she could at least surprise him by letting him know in a round-about way that others were thinking about him and get the stuff ready. The tea fixings would be ready by the time he was awake to steep and drink it – about fifteen minutes. It had been a rough week on all of them but Jane had bore the brunt of it.

When she returned to the bullpen she heard faint snoring from the couch. A small square-ish object caught her attention. It was lying on the floor beside the couch and Lisbon quietly picked up the soft leathery thing, walking away with hushed footsteps so as not to disturb her consultant who got little enough sleep as it was.

It was his wallet. A few small photographs had fallen halfway out where they had been loosely shoved in its worn folds. Except for the photos, for a man with financial resources that seemed to appear when-ever he needed them, his wallet was a relatively flat, featureless affair. Lisbon felt a little guilty about snooping but the temptation to look at the photos at least overcame her personal ethics as to her employee’s right to privacy. What-ever standards of conduct she routinely applied to herself and to the other members of her team she found herself constantly bending or breaking altogether when it came to Jane. She had a blind spot when it came to him and all members of her team recognised it as well as she did, but she simply couldn’t help herself. 

Routine anything rarely included Jane in its circle. He was...special somehow, and they all knew it, even if at times the other team members disagreed or outright resented it. Simple, routine, normal, usual – for Patrick Jane those words just didn’t do the job. Jane required more. He was an unending source of intrigue.

Lisbon examined the photos. The first was a one-by-two inch colour image of a young girl of perhaps eight years with messy blonde curls in a yellow top. She was looking into the camera with that posed smile, often the kind coaxed from a school photographer. Year book picture probably.

The second was a photo of the team including Jane and herself all standing around Van Pelt’s desk. Van Pelt was the only one sitting. A box of donuts sat opened nearby. Jane, perched on the very outside corner of her desk, was grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary. 

Lisbon had no idea who had taken the picture. Perhaps it had been one of their more important cases and someone in the clerical staff decided to mark the moment in time. Jane had obviously obtained a copy for himself.

The next photo, surprisingly, was of her. It was a stiff formal portrait from a when she was first appointed as head of CBI Homicide. She was in full uniform. Her hair was shorter. She remembered the day it was taken. This was a copy of a photo too big to normally fit inside a man’s wallet but Jane had folded the edges to make it to size. Lisbon had no idea how Jane had managed to get a copy of it since she herself (and the CBI archivist), possessed the only ones and hers was still in its usual spot hanging on her office wall. Upon arriving she’d glanced at it just that morning. Jane must have asked around to the right people to get a copy of it.

Another picture, Lisbon realized, was stuck to the back of it. Prying them apart she recognised the woman instantly - Jane’s late wife. She was smiling too. This photo, like the one of his daughter, was faded and had been much thumbed from repeated viewings.

There were no photos of his parents of other relatives. This pathetic collection of photos represented who his family was now; those dead and those still alive. These were the people he cared enough about to carry around with him every day.

Lisbon crept over to the couch and laid the wallet down where she had found it. Jane did not stir.

Twenty minutes later Van Pelt reported to her office, sticking her head in “Boss? The stuff is coming but it’s going to take a few hours. Most of these company’s say that everything from eight years back is in storage.” 

“Not surprising. Let me know when it does get here. Any word from Cho?”

“Sure and no. Not yet.”

“We found listening devices.”

It was Jane. He was awake and standing behind her. Lisbon started. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up behind me.”

Jane shrugged. “I wasn’t sneaking, just walking. When I was pushed down the stairs a year ago Cho had the tech’ boys do a sweep. We found bugs - listening devises.”

Lisbon said “I know what a bug is, and I remember.” For some reason suddenly his presence so close beside her irked her. He was like a feline creeping around. Sometimes it drove her crazy, like now. “So maybe there’re cameras, too.” Plus the feel of his lips still on hers still tingled and was making her feel vulnerable. That was unacceptable. She had a team to lead, a murder to solve and an imposter whose bloodthirsty boss they needed to ferret out. Right now she had no time for feelings.

Jane didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “It never occurred to me at the time – but, yes, there are probably cameras. Had to be.” Jane then added quietly, almost in a whisper “Did he film it I wonder?”

Lisbon was about to ask him “Film what?” and then with horror realised to what he was referring. Yes, most probably, if there were cameras still hidden in that death house, the murders had been filmed. Her heart pounded with the unholy possibilities. If at all possible Red John would have recorded his dirty deeds. He would have gotten off on it. The killer probably had some predetermined date in mind for the cruel unveiling of the bloody murder of Jane’s family. Perhaps it would come via the office email or even Jane’s own cell phone. Red John was a cruel spectre in Jane’s life, relentlessly haunting the man. Small wonder the guy hardly slept.

CBI

Cho called Lisbon’s cellular with a bit of news, speaking in his clipped, telegraphic style. “Nobody’s home at Jane’s old place. The neighbors think vacation. Someone comes to cut the grass every week. We’re tracking them down now.”

“Good.” Lisbon said simply. “Keep me posted.” She hung up and turned to Jane. “If we have to, we’ll get a court order to enter the premises.”

Jane nodded. He wondered what the new owners might have done to the place since moving in a year ago. 

Lisbon didn’t know what else to say. She left the bullpen with a coffee excuse. 

Lisbon stirred the murky liquid vigorously. Adding copious amounts of sugar and whitener to the inky stuff gave her a minute alone to think. She had seen the interior of Jane’s house only twice but she recalled with a shudder the little pink tricycle and the child’s purple boots sitting by the back door. Small, ghostly reminders of a life snuffed out in blood and infamy. How Jane looked at them regularly and still kept his sanity was a marvel. She for one could never have kept the place. 

Jane had kissed her! Every time the memory entered her head it left her off-balance. She’d spent many hours imagining it, fantasising even, of how it would feel and how she would respond; what she’d say; what she’d do. 

The day-dream had been sweet and comforting. The reality had been less so - confusing mostly. Had it been a thank-you or was he interested in her? When it came to feelings Jane was a puzzle and she often wondered how much of his mercurial side was put on and how much the real deal? Just when you thought you had the man figured out, he blindsided you and today was no different. He had kissed her and then clammed up. It was frustrating as hell.

“Are you gonna’ drink that?”

Lisbon started again. It was Jane, staring down at her cup. In the time she had stood by the counter just thinking her coffee had gone from piping hot to lukewarm. Suddenly she didn’t want it anymore. “No.” And to prevent them conversing on anything but the investigation - “Any more word from Cho?” She asked.

He shook his head. “I’m going to go have a look myself.”

Lisbon sighed. His old house he meant of course. He was going to break in and find the cameras – if there are any. “And I suppose if I warn you not to, threaten your job, threaten to hand-cuff you to your desk – all that stuff – would be a useless waste of breath?”

His hands in his pockets, he nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to –“

“You’re right, I don’t. But it looks like God has made me your keeper. I may as well embrace my fate.”

Jane smiled and Lisbon wanted to punch him. The son-of-a-bitch had her and he knew it. “Wipe that grin off your face before I do it myself.” She warned. The kiss still lingered but its meaning was perhaps becoming clearer. 

Her phone rang. It was Cho. “Without bothering with a greeting – “Any news?” She asked.

“The grass cutter’s a guy named Ed Wattner. He doesn’t have a key or anything. He just cuts the grass and collects the mail. The owners are in Hawaii for three weeks. No pets.”

No reason for Ed to enter the home in other words. “Figures.” She said. “I don’t suppose he knows which hotel?” 

“Sure. I already called. They’re away on some week-long excursion. No phones.”

Perfect. Lisbon glanced at Jane. Fate had taken the reigns once more.

“Anything else you want us to do boss?” Cho asked through the tiny speaker.

Lisbon held the device to her ear. “No, not right now.” Then she offered “With the house, Jane and I are following up a...possibility.”

Cho was silent for a moment. It was one of those telling silences, like somehow he knew exactly what was about to happen and all the possible underlying meanings in her words. As though he could sense the journey upon which she was about to embark, and she knew it had nothing to do with the house. Cho had first-hand knowledge of the inherent risks of such a journey. “Boss...”

Lisbon thought he was about to warn her not to get romantically involved with Jane as he had. Had Jane broken Cho’s heart? It was hard to know for sure. But instead of sage advice he simply said “Be careful.”

Still it was not the house that Cho was warning her about. 

“Always.” She hung up. Lisbon didn’t look at Jane. “Get your bag of magic tricks and let’s go.”

CBI

Jane made short of the house’s alarm system with a nifty little electronic do-dad that he whipped from his jacket pocket. He kept numerous things in those pockets which depths seemed endless. The back door lock proved no match to his tinkering either and they stepped inside.

Lisbon had almost expected a dark, somber house full of dust, cobwebs and ghosts wandering the halls. But the new owners had done a thorough job of scaring away old memories. Fresh paint in vibrant new colours, new wood and ceramic flooring, and modern, cheerful furniture greeted them as they entered the dining room. Whatever sad memories still lingered here, they were well hidden. She expected Jane would know where to scare them up. “Where do we start?”

“The bedroom.” He seemed not in the least upset to be in his old home and led the way to the open staircase. This too had been updated with iron railings and new oak. Jane stopped at the first door on the upper floor.

“Is this where...?”

Jane nodded. “It’s where I found them, but they were killed in the master bedroom and brought here after.”

Made sense. The recording had picked up the faint sound of a tow truck outside on the street. Such a noise would not have been audible if Red John had spent his time only in the daughter’s bedroom, located at the rear of the house. 

Jane was sweeping the rooms four walls with his eyes. “He said goodnight.” Jane said “He said good night to me. His car had broken down. When I returned to the house it was already dark. There was a man on the street, walking away, and there was a tow truck lifting up his stalled car. The man said good night to me before he left but it was too dark. I didn’t see his face.” Jane shook his head as though he couldn’t believe he had been so mentally blind. “I remember I ignored him. It never crossed my mind...”

“It would never cross anyone’s mind.” Lisbon assured him.

“By the time I found them, and the police arrived...” He trailed off.

Lisbon didn’t press him for more. Of course, all other thoughts would have been violently driven from his mind. The man on the street, the stalled car and the tow truck would have gotten lost in the horror of the hours that followed, all drowned in shock and grief. “Well, you remember now.”

Jane nodded again. “Because I was soundly reminded.” He explained not with some recrimination. “Red John didn’t mean for me to remember that night but that’s why he sent the fake wife. He knew the CBI had the recording and he didn’t want me listening to it. He didn’t want me to make the connection, to discover his one mistake.” Jane rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. “He wanted me distracted.”

Lisbon nodded. No one expects their vehicle to break down in the middle of an act of multiple murder but even killers can have an off day. “We’ll find out which company took the pick-up order that night and who the client was – Red John. Who he really is.”

The banal reassurances sounded hollow. Lisbon followed him as Jane wandered down the hall to the master bedroom. They found nothing their either. 

“If there were any hidden cameras, Red John’s had plenty of time to remove them.” Jane said.

“It was a long shot.” Lisbon admitted. “Come on - let’s get out of here before we’re both arrested.”

CBI

Van Pelt met her at the bullpen door. She had her vest on. Rigsby and Cho were back and they had their vests on, too. Cho was loading his weapon.

“Boss,” Van Pelt shoved a note in her hand. “We just got a line on the car that was towed. It belonged to a Marvin Andrew Church. We’ve got his last known address.”

Lisbon checked her weapon and accepted a vest from Rigsby who had grabbed one for her from tactics. She slipped it on. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Cho answered “Was about to. We just got the call now.”

CBI

The bent over man who answered Lisbon’s hard knocking and authoritative command to open the door peered incredulously up at her through thick glasses, his eyes alarmed at her drawn weapon pointed straight at him. “W-what do you want?” His voice sounded high and thin.

“We’re looking for Marvin Andrew Church. This is his last known address. Is he home?”

The old man shook his head. “Marv?? He moved out years ago. Took all his stuff with him. What do you want with Marv?”

“We need to speak with him.” Lisbon explained impatiently. “Did he leave a forwarding address or a phone where we could reach him?” 

The old fellow shrugged. “Sorry. Marv kept to himself. Odd fellow. Paid his rent on time though.”

“What’s your name?”

The old fellow decided to be forthcoming to the tough lady with the gun. “Ray Rowland. I’ve owned this house for almost forty years.”

Jane, who had hung at the back of the group until now, stepped forward. “Mister Rowland, what about his car?”

The old man looked at him, a little puzzled. “It’s out back. Wonder how you guessed that? Marv’ left it for me. A nice Dodge. Gettin’ rusty but it still runs.”

Lisbon holstered her weapon. “We need to search that car.”

The old fellow pointed to the narrow, grass-choked sidewalk that ran beside the two story house. The paint was peeling off in flakes. “Just go through that gate. Car’s parked beside the garage.”

Lisbon nodded to Cho. “Cover the back door. Van Pelt, you stay here and watch the front. No one enters or leaves this place until we’re through.”

Lisbon and Rigsby made short work of searching the cars’ interior and glove box. There was nothing. Not even a scrap of paper or a toothpick. “He’s more fastidious with his car than he is with his lawn.” Rigsby commented.

Jane wandered around the car, looking at the exterior. Lisbon watched him curiously. There was very little to learn by the car’s rusty fenders or by kicking the tires. Jane turned to the old fellow. “Are these the original tires?”

Ray nodded. “Yup. Never had a single flat. Still got the donut in the trunk.” Jane used the old man’s keys and popped the trunk. Lisbon watched him swiftly remove the grey carpet in a shower of dust. Beneath it, to their horror, was a skull, bleached as white as snow, shoved in beside the hard rubber spare “donut” tire where a note written in thick black felt pen was tucked into the rim. Though faded to purple after almost a decade spent in its place of concealment, the writing was clear enough. 

“Mister Jane”, it read, “Meet Marvin, an old friend who was nice enough to loan me his car for a while. You might recognise it from that fateful night on your street. I wondered how long it will take you to find it, Patrick. And Marvin, too, of course. A few months? A few years? More? Ah well. Happy hunting – Red John.”

CBI

When Lisbon arrived at Bertram’s office, Agent Darcy was already seated and waiting. She had called this meeting no doubt to state her intentions to pursue a full investigation of the events of two weeks previous, getting the FBI involved in need be. Though they had no specific jurisdiction in a CBI internal matter, in the case of Red John, she had leverage. Red John was a Federal case – her case – and what had happened to Jane that night involved Red John or at least one of his followers. To all intents and purposes it was her case.

“I believe Agent Lisbon and perhaps even some members of her team are trying to shield Patrick Jane.” Darcy got right to the point. Not so much as a Howdy-do.

Bertram looked tired. “Shield him from what?”

“From taking responsibility for the death of Debbie Daniels.”

Once more Bertram pointed out the obvious. “Jane had been beaten, Agent Darcy. You really think he was in a position physically to force her to lie down while he eviscerated her, and then somehow hide the weapon without leaving a trace of himself on her body or any trace on anything in the room except the chair in which he was found unconscious? It seems a bit of a stretch to me. If he did it answer me this: who beat him up?”

Darcy didn’t blink. “He did it to himself. Patrick’s a clever man, sir, he certainly fooled me.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just some personally vendetta against him, Agent? Maybe he made you look bad to your Superiors, ruffled your feathers a bit, most operators don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.” He leaned forward resting large hands on the paperwork in front of him, some of which had arrived from Agent Darcy’s field office listing her accusations.”You know what this seems like to me, Agent Darcy? Your personal witch hunt. From what I have learned from Agent Lisbon and the rest of her team, Jane has been cooperative through-out your investigation. In fact as far as I can see he’s done nothing to impede or side-wind your efforts to track Red John.”

“I disagree and my Superiors do also.”

“You mean one of your Superiors.” Bertram corrected her. He nodded to his phone. “I can dial numbers you know. Ted Gardener is a personal friend and he’s not on board with this.”

“But Chief Moreno is.” She countered.

Bertram nodded. “Very well. I’ll start the wheels rolling on this nonsense.” He leaned back. One more thing to pile on top of the toppling work pile. 

The meeting was over. Lisbon hadn’t said a word. She had mustered every cell in her body not to let loose and call the woman a vindictive bitch. Sometimes diplomacy was managing to keep your mouth shut.

XXX

Susan Darcy walked to her car in the dark parking garage with as great a purpose as ever. Red John would fall. Perhaps not today but he would fall. As for Patrick Jane...

As she inserted her key into the door of her Sebring, a hand wrapped around her neck from behind and she felt something hard press up against her throat, pushing and pinching her airway closed.

A voice wispy and dead sounding like the gusts of mid-winter through blackened, icy branches whispered in her ear. “Do you wish to live Susan?”

He used her given name and for a reason she couldn’t explain it sent chills down and through her more thoroughly than if he had directly threatened her with bloody words of murder. Though her movement was restricted – his physical strength was incredible - she managed a single nod.

“Then you shall. But you will leave Patrick to me. Do you understand me, Susan? You will leave Patrick alone from now on. He belongs to me. Do you understand? Indicate to me that you clearly understand. That there is no doubt in your mind because otherwise I will kill you. You’re attractive. You would be fun. Do you understand me?” 

Susan could see the darkness closing in and knew she was seconds away from losing consciousness. What might happen to her after that...She gave him what he wanted, another small nod.

He let some air in and she gasped for breath, but then he tightened it up again. “I love him you see.” The man who was Red John put his lips next to her left ear and said in a nasal voice but one hoarse with anger. “To her father white came the maiden bright. But his loving look like the holy book, all her tender limbs with terror shook.”

He let he go then and her legs collapsed out beneath her like so much gelatin. As she fell the world itself grew bigger but hers became infinitesimally small, and she much more vulnerable, like a child is vulnerable when she realises she has gotten lost in a echoing space so much bigger and more frightening than she thought possible. 

She had almost died. Within inches she had wandered - right next to it. Near a breath away. A single pressing of a trunk-like arm against tender flesh and she would have seen her last vision and heard her last sound and both would have been via him, the killer.

This is where-in Patrick Jane lived and breathed every day. 

Susan Darcy sat on the oily smelling concrete beside her car and felt the tears of fear and relief fill her eyes. She, an FBI agent, one as strong as any man on the job was shaking with hatred, fear and relief, and with a new murderous intent in her soul. 

These same emotions and desires filled Patrick Jane. A revelation struck Susan that Patrick Jane wanted Red John dead just as much as she now did but it was by Red John’s good will that Jane even walked the earth unmolested. 

Mostly unmolested.

When her legs worked once more Susan climbed in behind the wheel of her car and drove back to her hotel. Weirdly, she did not even think to lock the door. Red John she knew for a certainty would not be calling upon her tonight or any other, as long as he had the expectation that she would keep her promise. Her secret vow to a killer. 

As she stepped into the warm shower she had another revelation.

She felt sorry for Jane.

XXX

“He didn’t know anything. When we found him he was unconscious.” Lisbon made her concerns known to Bertram. “You’ll get my full report Monday. The last I heard, sir, was that Agent Darcy intends to pursue - what? I see. May I ask why she decided to drop? – no sir, I’ll leave that up to the Department. Yes sir, certainly. Thank you, sir.” A flood of relief swept through her body as Lisbon went to find Jane.

From his uncomfortable perch on a wobbling stool he had borrowed from the staff lunch room, Jane watched the woman who had claimed to be his wife. On the laptop monitor, her recorded image rocked gently. While in custody she had spent hours chanting softly. 

His wife was dead for the second time. This time it had not hurt so much. Not in the unseen parts of him anyway. His wrists were still bruised and smarting from the ropes.

Lisbon entered the dusty attic room and stood alongside him.

Bad time or good, she had to know. “Was there any point where you really believed she was your wife?”

Jane did not take his eyes off of the now dead imposter rocking her upper body back and forth on the floor; a worshiper saying her nightly prayers. “For a minute or two maybe.” Then in a sudden moment of stark vulnerability that was so totally honest it surprised him. “I wanted her to be.” 

Jane paused the image and finally tore his eyes away from the dead woman who had turned his already listing life on its side. He looked at Lisbon, his eyes never blinking. 

Lisbon said. “Agent Darcy has dropped her request for an inquiry.”

He looked at her a little surprised. “That’s interesting. Did she say why?”

Lisbon shook her head. “She also put in a request with the FBI for six months off.” 

Jane nodded. Suddenly he thought he understood. “Red John got to her.”

Lisbon found that idea hard to swallow. Darcy seemed to her like a very cool customer. Nothing had ever seemed to rattle the woman. “Really? Darcy’s a tough agent. I don’t imagine much would put her off.”

“But everyone wants to live – right? And Red John can be...very convincing.” he said. “Darcy wants her life more than she wants revenge against me, or even to catch Red John.”  
“Do you somehow know Red John is behind this?”  
Jane shrugged. “Just a feeling.” 

Whatever the reason, Lisbon was glad. She looked at the frozen image on the screen. “What do you think happened to her? With all of them I mean – the followers? What is it about Red John that people will do anything for him, even die?”  
Jane looked back at the still image. “He gives them...” He was going to say purpose but perhaps it was more complex than that. Even the local coffee shop with its dozens of latte varieties offers a smidgen of purpose once a day. “...hope, I think.”

“Hope? For what?”

Jane shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Something better maybe.” When was the last time he had a purpose? Every morning when he got up: Hunt Red John, catch Red John, kill Red John.

But hope. Hope for something better, for happiness maybe...someday... was a prey that stayed just ahead of his every move. Hope was a difficult hunt. It was a hard thing to see, hard to listen for, hard to feel at all some days. But hope, if or when you did possess it, almost always disappointed.

Lisbon wanted to squelch something and now was as good a time as any. She turned to face Jane full on. “You know Red John, no matter how evil his acts, isn’t some kind of god, Jane. He’s just a man - and an arrogant one. He’s screwed up before and he will again. He will be caught. It’s just a matter of time.” Jane nodded. He at least appeared convinced. Maybe he was just depressed. God knew he had a right to be.

Jane looked up at Lisbon. His Lisbon. This, too, was a difficult hope. Not one for him to entertain at this time in his life. Not yet. “But I can’t stop until I get him.” He said to her carefully. “You understand that, don’t you Lisbon?”

The tiniest echo of a plea was embedded in his words. Of course she knew that. “I know. And you know that I’m going to continue to try and change your mind about it. I hope one day you will. In fact I know you will.”

“Oh I know you think so. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be the Teresa I have come to know. You will also foolishly do everything in your power to protect me from myself.” 

“What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t?”

Jane stared at her with question in his eyes. “Darcy had something on you, didn’t she?” It was a question but not. He sounded certain. “I mean that night...I don’t...remember everything that happened, but I remember a knife...” 

Lisbon reached down and took his forearm, careful to guide him just by the elbow to the door of the dusty room. Now was not the time for anything outside of professionalism. But there was hope for more. “Knife? Jane, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I do know everything’s going to be fine, I promise. Now come on, let me buy you a cup of tea in the kitchen.” Damn Jane and his boiled leaves. Although she would never give up her coffee, tea was growing on her, among other things, and those she could wait for. There was plenty of time.

Yes, hope and time. Both were on their side. 

CBI END


End file.
